"I did do it, Miss Lydia! I swear I did!" Sarah's voice fractured mid-sentence as sobs wracked her body. Her trembling fingers dug into the metal frame of the clothing rack, knuckles white with the effort of keeping herself upright. The slap had left a perfectly shaped pink handprint across her pale cheek, the skin already beginning to swell and throb with heat.
When she spoke again, her voice emerged as a ragged, breathless squeak, stripped of all dignity and self-preservation. "I went down to Dressing Room 4 exactly when you told me to! I waited until Cynthia went to the break room, and I swapped the palettes! I scored the seams myself with the box cutter from the prop desk!"
