I felt this.
He peeked around the corner. If she was aware of his confrontation with her father, or his presence, she gave no indication. She was completely and utterly focused on her arms, which held something in a bundle of bloody rags. The something wasn't moving, wasn't making a sound. Quiet and still.
“Kyla?” Grey said. “Are you hurt?”
Her lips pursed together, clamping off the sound. Her voice was a shattered-glass whisper. “It only matters because it hurts.”
Grey took a step forward, into something wet. Kyla’s blood, sticky, the smell of copper coins flooding his nose.
Kyla’s head turned toward him. Her brow was sweaty, tendrils of hair sticking to her smooth, brown skin. “Do you want to see my beautiful girl?” she asked.
A girl. Oh, Wrath. If you exist, fix this. Give her back her child.
