"Ryder’s shirt is torn around my dagger and she is covered in blood. So much blood that it is literally everywhere, on the floor, on her waistband, in her scattered hair, on her clothes, and all over my hands. It gives the air around her a sickly butcher-shop odor. Her eyes are open but her irises hold a certain vacancy. She is stiff and motionless. Her lips already wear that bluish, frozen color. Her arms are weighted down and stretched out on either side of her, in the shape of a human cross. Her hands lay uncurled, open to someone’s touch, which I wish was mine."
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