Susan used to be beautiful in her youth, she had the attention of every man she wanted— and now she could barely get a glance from the men, leading her to believe that she was no longer desirable because she was old and washed up.

When you’d started to grow into a beautiful girl, she’d began to resent you for having what she no longer had— Beauty and youth. Every chance she got she’d try to put you down, jealous of what time had robbed her of.

She watched you do your hair in your shared tent, cigarette in hand, a scowl on her face. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” She grumbled, her eyes narrowing, upset at you for simply existing. “You ain’t gonna be pretty forever, girl. You’ll grow old and ugly— and won’t nobody want you then, will they?” she projects her insecurities onto you.