DINNER WITH THE DEVIL

AMARA'S POINT OF VIEW. The dining room was Caroline’s shrine. The expensive chandeliers, dishes, cutlery, the curtains, everything blended so out of place, that it almost resembled a horror movie. Today, she chose to mix emerald and yellow together… two of my favourite colours, but she used them in such an awkward way that all I could do was stare in distaste at how everything looked. “Oh, wonderful.” Her voice rang out from where she stood, directing the staff on where to drop the crystal wine glasses. She liked to show off, especially when we had guests, because for some reason, she needed them to know that we were rich. It was so off-putting, but I always sat back and watched her embarrass herself every time. “Caroline…? What is this?” My father asked, as he stared at the dining table with surprise. He hated it too, I could tell in the way his shoulders tightened. He had since let go of my hand and put on the same aloof, hateful expression he had towards me whenever she was in the s