Maybe they pretended not to hear the slight sneer entering her voice. Maybe Rosalind caught it before it seeped in fully, bit down on her bitterness until it slid back against her tongue. When she swallowed, there was a lump in her throat: fierce as a shard of glass, lodged tight with no means of removal unless she tore the skin right open and let her blood run free. She was so tired of herself.
