Frida stepped back, nearly tripping over the short train of her ballgown. Her arms flew back to catch herself, and by the grace of God she managed to find her footing before she fell into the mirror behind her. With startled eyes and pink cheeks she stared at her sister, knowing she'd been caught even if Gretchen likely didn't know what she'd caught Frida in the middle of.
"Mr. Prewett," she blurted out finally, her face crumbling with a mixture of guilt and regret. She shouldn't have hidden the letters, shouldn't have burned them, and she knew that even at the time she'd done it—and yet it was so much worse now that Gretchen was looking at her with such anger in her eyes. How could she admit it. How could she not? "I—"
"Mr. Prewett," she blurted out finally, her face crumbling with a mixture of guilt and regret. She shouldn't have hidden the letters, shouldn't have burned them, and she knew that even at the time she'd done it—and yet it was so much worse now that Gretchen was looking at her with such anger in her eyes. How could she admit it. How could she not? "I—"
— set by mj —