Crazy

Constance threw her head back and laughed, a chilling, hollow sound that scraped against Monique's soul. "Mercy? Did you show an ounce of mercy to Harriet? You painted her as a villain, a murderer, and orchestrated her downfall. When she died, alone and ostracized, did you shed a single tear? Did you even flinch?"

Monique shrank back, the accusations ringing true. Guilt, a serpent she'd kept caged for so long, reared its ugly head, its icy coils constricting her lungs. "I'm... I'm so sorry," she whispered, the words a pathetic shield against Constance's righteous fury.

"Sorry?" Constance scoffed, the word a foreign concept on her twisted lips. "Even if you and Sahara lived a thousand lifetimes, what you owe Harriet can never be repaid with hollow apologies. You took her life, you stole her happiness, and now you'll live with the crushing weight of that sin."

Constance was done playing games. She snapped her fingers and the image on the wall changed.