Prologue
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The pool of red should have been scary. But it wasn't. Not for me.
I look up.
The burns. The wounds. The scars. The screams. The knife.
The knife which poked out through her chest.
I'd finally done it.
Finally. It took me years.
Years to do this.
And now. I've done it. Mom would be proud of me. But mom is dead now. Because of her.
Her. her. her.
A glimmer of pride and relief flickered in my chest at the sight of her body lying in the kitchen of her own house.
But no remorse.
•°•°•°•°•°•
What a georgeous cover!!! it perfectlycaptures the mood of the story Great job!!!
yes keep going