I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me (I Feed Her to the Beast, #1)

by Jamison Shea

Firm but still broken. And always beautiful. Just like the perfect ballerina.

Almost everyone who made it into the company also had a legacy name or an inheritance big enough to make you blush, while Joséphine

had neither to pave her way. It was rare for a nobody to climb high society’s ladder, and for Joséphine to reach so high so fast … that was terrifying for them. Enough to inspire endless gossip. People always manufactured excuses to deny us our successes.

Maybe two years from now, one of us would be cannibalizing her. We hated her as much as we loved her, because she had our dream caught between her perfect, pearly white teeth, dangled in front of our faces.

I didn’t see a world for me without my art in it, where I didn’t live this beauty and torment every single day.

Paris was beautiful in the ugliest way, and I only dreamed of being loved so unconditionally.

What is life but hunger and resilience? Persistent thriving no matter

the conditions? What better kin to have?

I fed her to the beast, and the beast was me, and the beast was within me.