Her scent preceded her. It always did. Guilt’s perfume was one way I identified her. It shifted with our mood, which made her different from all other guardians. At the moment, her perfume held a faint tinge of apples and other sweet things, so I didn’t think I was in serious trouble.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Guilt asked, tapping one pink manicured hand against her hip.
I paused with one leg in the air over the windowsill and the other still planted firmly on my carpet. “Sneaking out,” I whispered loudly. “What does it look like?”
“Like you’re about to fall to your death,” she countered sweetly. “Do be careful, dear. You’re important to us.”
“Why did it have to be you?” I practically snarled at Guilt. She was one of my least favorites, with her soccer mom fake good looks and air of ever-present smugness. I’d have preferred Dez again, or even Anger, or any of the other ones. Guilt’s presence told me volumes about how I felt, and it did not bode well for my time with Noah.