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

by Jamison Shea

“You were glorious,” I told her, because no one else would, tone fierce so she wouldn’t argue back.

These people viewed everything touched by the lower class as dark, depraved, and violent. To them, surely I was either exactly the same or exceptional not to be.

And the only things we had in common were surface level: the dimpled chin and widow’s peak. My only inheritance, while Coralie had millions.

I wasn’t a helpless little girl anymore. He created this distance; I was merely maintaining it.

And everyone around me, the professionals and apprentices, all nodded, resolute like little soldiers. Everybody but me. Because we weren’t soldiers—we were ballerinas with careers like mayflies, gliding onstage in gossamer wings. The only enemies we knew were time and each other.