The edge chafes my thighs past the hem of my miniskirt. The candle sits on a window sill. The library meeting room's window is perfectly shuttered."H-...ello. My name is Claire McBice, and I have been under my son's control for nearly two weeks."I don't dare breathe until their light clapping finishes. Then I sigh, from full breath, to empty lungs. I study the women apprehensively. Ingrid saves me."Thank you Claire. Is there something specific you'd like to unburden this afternoon?" Uh," I feel. It was like watching an old black-and-white movie.Her hair was dark and chin-length. She wore military-style boots, with fishnet stocking spanning the length of her legs, before disappearing up the leg of her cut-off denim shorts. Her t-shirt bore a Misfits logo on it, and was short and torn in spots that made it seem almost intentional. She didn't look to be any older than 17. Her eyes, though. They glowed white. I was frozen. Whether it was from her beauty, or the fact that she appeared at. More

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