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Summary
Isabela’s sister was young.
Not… not that young. She wasn’t a kid. Or at least, she wouldn’t want to describe her as a kid, because then she’d only feel worse, so ‘young woman’ was her preferred choice of words, but the impression of dishonesty began to chip away at her conscience as soon as the sun fell and she found herself alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t a kid, but she wasn’t an adult either, and that could only mean she was a kid, and Isabela was a liar, and a coward, and a danger to someone who trusted her with everything in the world because she refused to use the right language.
