Olivia Martins

I couldn’t stop shaking.

Karen’s blood soaked into the floorboards, sticky and metallic, thick in the air. I sobbed uncontrollably, the sounds raw and animalistic, my wrists burning where the binds had rubbed them raw. Her body had gone still. Limp. Cold. Dead.

“No…” I whispered, as if I could take it back. As if that one word could rewind time. “No, no, no—”

The scent was overwhelming, iron and death. My stomach turned and I doubled over, vomiting ...