"Karen Riverwood," said the witch of endless chins as the first aspiring Luna came into full view.
Karen was a fair girl with fair skin, and by the nervous look on her, a fair personality. Her lustrous black hair was tied in a thick bun behind her, a golden wreath comb lancing through it. Her eyes refused to steal a glance at anything but the floor and her smile was a farce she knew to be woven by her livid anxiety.
Her dress might have been a part of her, a lustrous length of skin she shed in a past life as – perhaps – some colorful fish. It was a turquoise Bardot dress, gleaming as water would in candlelight.
She fumbled when she reached the stage. She didn't know what to do next – to climb on or to walk over to the werewolves.
Jean felt sorry for her. Her hand was shaking, he noticed. It jittered when a vampire behind Jean made a rather cruel comment loudly.
"Did they kill off all the pretty ones?"
