Krystal’s POV
I was not screaming. I desired to. The terror gripped my throat, and shot along my limbs like a page aflame. I did not scream though.
As it happens, I merely stared.
There in that small black velvet box.
Gone by that fine light-coloured ribbon which lay so daintily cast aside.
In the earring,--my earring,--still half ditch-filled with dried blood.
I remember the earring being the last thing I looked at the night I ran, barefoot and out of breath, out of the penthouse of Hans. It must have dropped, I suppose, on the pavement, or in the gloom of a gutter. I had forgotten that it was gone and Colt found me days later.
And this was it.
In my bedroom again. At penthouse Colt. A fear dressed up in lace and atrocity.
Colt took up the box and turned it over with gloved finge
