⌘
She had stolen the thick file folder from her therapist’s office after the outbreak hit. It stayed with her, tucked away safely in the confines of her backpack. No one ever knew it was there. No one ever stole a glance.
If they had, they never would have followed her.
They never would have begun to worship her for saving their pathetic little lives.
Terminus itself would never have existed.
Now, it was time to destroy all evidence of what once had been. Her moronic quack of a therapist had called her many things—the chief among them was a word she despised.
Narcissist.
They said it was a personality disorder. They said it was something she needed to be cured of. Evangeline saw it differently. She saw it as her greatest strength. Those who followed her now saw it that way, too.
They never knew she hadn’t really been a terminal cancer patient. They didn’t need to know. All they needed to know was what she had told them. Her fabrication of the truth served the greater good. The Lord himself had called upon her to save their souls in any way she could, and she had done his will.
Without a second thought, Angie set fire to the stack of papers, forever ridding the world of any evidence that she was not who she said she was.
What is right isn’t always easy. What’s easy isn’t always right.
For every "⌘" I get, Muse will confess a secret.
