One would speak straight from her heart. One would aim to rip apart. They would seem the same in change—most varied sisters of a game. Truth was one and lie was her. She would spit each every slur—if it was not for what was known—her evil eye would see a throne. She’d do it all with style and grace. She played a part that set a chase. This fawning look she practiced thrice was just a trap set well for mice. The other blared and screamed and cried. Some crazy witch—inside she died.
