Aria knew that; she understood the story Alison was telling. But the next bit caught her by surprise anyway: "I didn't tell the girls about what happened. I'm sure you appreciate that. Are you sure we're the only ones who saw them? I'd hate for your mom to find out from someone else..." Aria couldn't believe it; Aria could easily believe it. Both.
"Trick or treat," Alison smiled. She needed the story to be complete. She wasn't above telling that story, if it meant Aria would be there for the story. A sick smile came out, like a moon from behind the clouds. And this was the story she told, and was telling:
She lifted the knife high into the air, and then plunged it, deep into her sister's chest. A sick smile came, across her face, as she watched the blood ooze out of her sister's heart.
Is the doctor in? "Actually," said Noel Kahn, "I'm a gynecologist. Care to make an appointment?" He identified the Liars in the circle as quickly as he could: "Hot Chick, Britney, Hot Witch, Hot Indian Chick... And, uh...?"
Spencer was dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots. "She was born to be queen," she explained to Hanna and Noel Kahn, "But her cousin stole the throne, and then she was accused of treason, and her family had her executed." This is the story Spencer would tell; it is the story she tells and has told.
But the truth is that Mary was only queen of Scotland for a short time, and only after she'd claimed Elizabeth's English throne as her own, and it was Elizabeth that eventually jailed and killed her -- not her sister at all. Elizabeth, of course, being beset by Catholic Marys everywhere she looked. By sisters and cousins that were nearly her.
If you stand in a dark room and speak to a mirror, on a certain night when things are perfect, then wonders and terrors will be revealed to you. You might mistake a stranger for a sister, or a sister for a stranger. A sick smile might come across your face, like the hunter's moon. But even in the absence of light, the mirror will reverse you, to yourself. Alison, and Jason, and Alison reversed. And this is the story she told:
"It's my song! Let's hit the dance floor!"
Jenna appeared, in a red jumpsuit that was everything Alison's hard, black-leather nightmare was not. A better Gaga for a better girl; a better girl poised to take away everything Alison had. Noel flowed toward her like water. Not that she really wanted it, all that much. She just needed capital to give the girls she'd gathered around her. She wanted her, again, immediately. Jenna smiled, over her razorblade sunglasses.