Grachi

Doña Sofía staggered back, the smoke dissipating. Her face, for the first time, was not cruel. It was old. And tired. And maybe, just maybe, sorry.

“See?” she said. “A monster.”

“She died when I was ten. But she had a book. Old. Leather. With a symbol that looks a lot like those lines on your hands right now.” grachi

Doña Sofía stepped out from behind the altar, furious. “Clever. But heart won’t save you from me.” Doña Sofía staggered back, the smoke dissipating