*Miranda’s POV*
“Come on, we are going to be late!” Lillian called from the other side of my bedroom door, the one I had used when I was a young girl still living in the pack house with my parents. It even looked the same. Pink frilly pillows and covers... Soft dove grey walls... The curtains were a fine lace that merely served a decorative function... It was so not me. Those were the days when my mother had hope that she could over stimulate me to my breaking point where I’d cave and be the little minion she’s always dreamed of having. That never happened. Instead, if you looked closer, you’d see the rock band posters on the inside of my cupboard doors... The collage of photos stuck with cellotape to the wall... You would see the books, not really suitable for an innocent young lady, ado
