Dogs Biting Each Other

Cynthia stood at the door of the pantry, her delicate face devoid of any warmth. A layer of coldness gathered in her eyebrows and eyes, as if the air itself had turned into tiny shards of ice.

The onlookers felt as if their throats were blocked, unable to speak or swallow. The strong sense of suffocation tormented them incessantly.

Several people exchanged glances, their faces ashened. How could Miss Shannon walk so quietly?

Did Miss Shannon hear what they were just saying?!

Just as they awaited their impending doom, Cynthia, seemingly oblivious to their presence, retracted her gaze and walked away.

It was as if the inexplicable low laughter from before was merely a figment of their imagination.

"What does Miss Shannon mean?" the woman with a high ponytail spoke up.

"Who knows."