Aria’s POV
My bathwater in the clawfoot tub was no longer clear. It was a bruised pink, swirling with the remnants of the lives I had apparently taken in that alley, and who knows, maybe more.
I sat there, paralyzed, scrubbing at my skin until it was raw, but the feeling of being unclean wouldn't leave me.
As I closed my eyes, the flashes came back. They weren't clear memories; they were cracked bursts of violence.
I saw myself snap someone's throat. The sound of wet tearing. A pair of eyes wide with a terror that I had caused. I saw my own hands do it, but I couldn't tell if I saw it with my own eyes.
My breath hitched, and I instinctively reached up, my wet fingers pressing against the center of my chest. I touched the skin where the Mark had been, the spot that usually pulsed
