HE BROKE ME; THEN HE OWNED ME
“I see anger in your eyes. You came for revenge. But you are not allowed to bring a weapon here, much less spill blood. I rebuke you, you have no place for this—”
Katherine laughed, and it sounded like a thing that had been saved up for a long time. She moved down those few worn steps with the economy of someone who has rehearsed violence in the mirror.
She closed the distance between us with an easy, terrible grace.
“Enough of the dramas, old priest,” she snapped, as if she were clearing away props. Her smile flicked once, cold and quick, then gone.
She stood over me, the knife glinting in her hand like an accusation.
Bab Populer