Sunrise on the Reaping

Most of all, she won’t look me in the eye, which my sweetheart never failed to do.

But this isn’t Louella. In the same way you instinctively know the waxed pears on the table lack juice, this girl lacks Louella’s essence.

My heart leaps, then sinks like a stone. I feel Louella’s crushed skull leaking hot blood into my hand. See her vacant eyes. She was good and dead in a way that defied return. So who is this girl in the doorway?