Chapter 32The sculpture stared at me forlornly, the eyes misshapen, the usual cherubic attributes missing from its features. I smooshed the face in irritation, squeezing the clay beneath my fingers until the piece was completely obliterated. Frustration hummed beneath my skin, a constant irritation that was completely overwhelming. It seemed as though I didn't belong in my own skin, couldn't recognize the person who inhabited this body and mind. The person who stared at me in the mirror each morning was a stranger. No longer Finnola O'Flaherty, I was the woman who'd become the Ripper's victim. The Ripper's slave. The Ripper's w***e.
Those initial few hours of acceptance, where I'd taken the news calmly, been in control of my emotions – they had been an illusion. I'd mistakenly believed I
