VOLUME 3: DESOLATE
I teased the cold in through my fingertips, into my blood stream. Drank it into my soul and let it fill every crevice of my being. I squeezed my eyes tight, willing myself home to Hell, wishing it were me there and not Michael.
The thought of him broke my concentration and I felt the sunlight warming my eyelids. Not the cold of Hell but the warmth of the California sun. A gut-wrenching sob tore through my chest. I couldn't bear the thought of Michael enduring endless torture at the hands of my father. Couldn't bear the thought that he'd be stripped of his goodness. Stripped of everything that defined him.
The creatures of Hell would see to it.
It should have been me.
Unable to claim the darkness I needed so badly, I let my eyes open. Just Lucy's balcony. Just Earth.
