She was digging.
Angelina had always hated working in the garden. Always found it unnecessary and tiresome.
Now the shovel felt clumsy in her trembling hands.
She kept digging, there was an uproar in her head, a ring on her finger that won't come off, people in her pack that were turning on her. The boy who claimed to love her was after her blood.
Somewhere in the main pack land, a house was burning.
Angelina kept digging.
'It's deep enough,' the thought cut through her head over everything else.
She didn't remember climbing out of the pit, didn't remember how she started another fire.
All she remembered were cold bodies under her fingers, the smell of blood going to her head. She was crying maybe, she'd stumbled while dragging the corpses maybe.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
