After my cousin and boyfriend got me killed, I watched them pretend to be good people at the base, eating the food they'd gotten by sacrificing me.
I watched my cousin put on a sorrowful display over my death as my boyfriend held her close and comforted her. Floating in the air, I scoffed. If I weren't the one who died, I'd believe them too.
I hate it. Why? Why can this pair of scumbags feel so at ease after sacrificing me?
