someone whispers. “Feel what you really are…”“No, Gemma, don’t…” a soft voice whispers. I know that voice. It’s my mother’s.I open my eyes to the yard covered with metal objects surrounding me. “I don’t feel anything.”“That’s because you’re cold,” someone says as I sit up and glance around the junkyard. “And heartless.”“No, she’s not,” my mother says and she emerges out from behind some metal crates. “She’s good and that’s why you’re so worried.”“Yes, she is,” the voice purrs. “She’s bad and you’ll soon see that I’m right.”“I am not,” I argue as ravens flock around my head. “I’m just confused.”“Confused.” The voice grows louder and then laughs. “You’re messing with everyone’s head and playing with their emotions. You’re downright evil, which is good… it’s what I want.” I suddenly recognize the voice. “Stephan.”“Gemma, don’t listen to him,” my mom begs, not moving toward me, reaching out to me instead.
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