She slowly turned the door knob and with a deep breath, opened it.

The moment she entered the room, a pungent smell of rust swam through her trachea. Why do Police Departments have to be as repelling as they are?

The room's upper half was covered in blue paint, the lower white. The corners were actually empty, only if you ignore that little blue bin on the back left corner of the room. There was a table with two chairs, facing one another, in the center. Glory would have had to do an Eenie Meenie Miney Mo to choose which one to sit on, but interestingly one of them was already occupied.

Glory met her eyes with the strict - looking cop that sat on the more comfortable looking seat. He adjusted his glasses and motioned her to take a seat. Glory prowled to the other seat, trying to resist her heart from any lub- dup, in case it gives off any secret she is hiding.

"Good Morning Sir." She mumbled.

"It's afternoon already." He replied.

Glory felt a river of tingles rush down her spine. Pathetic. A bad start already. And bad beginnings make bad endings too, yeah?

"Miss. Vanderwaal, any last statement?"

Glory stared at the cop. Was he sending her all like that? Where were the proofs and stuff...

"Seems like you have nothing to say in defense. Should I call them to arrest you if that's what you prefer?"

Glory shook her head fast. The cop raised a brow.

"I, err, I didn't do anything." She murmured.

"Hah. Logic less. How many crimes are you accused of? Murder, kidnapping, forcing, blaming, what's more?"

Glory stared at the cop in astonishment. Did he really mean that? Like, that was a mere lie.

Murder. She wasn't the one who did it.

Kidnapping. Somehow, but still, she was against it.

Forcing. Who the hell did she force?

Blaming. Well, that was somehow true, but that was a white lie.

It was so unfair. Life was unfair. And here she was planning to transform into the Glamorous Glory. She had to accept it. Kismet had nothing, but bad luck in store for her.

"I confess. I did it."

Glory closed her eyes as she felt a cold hand chain her wrists with shackles. She lifted herself as the same hand pulled her off her seat and started dragging her.

She was going to prison.

For eternity.

As soon as I heard the cell door lock behind me, I just sat on the back wall and the tears began to flow as I took my first glimpse at my new digs: three buckets, one bed, one toilet that was surprisingly kind of clean (emphasis on kind of), a rusty-ass sink with a mirror the size of a small notepad, a desk, and a window. A clothesline was left hanging in the cell. I decided to leave it because I figured it would come in handy.

Was that how it was going to be?