I highly doubt that diving into her soul will feel anything like diving into Nathaniel’s.
I close my eyes, let my mind sink into that same space, stretching outward—toward the picture, toward whatever might be lurking behind that carefully crafted kindness.
And this time—
I feel something, too.
It’s faint, like an echo.
But it’s wrong.
A slow, creeping sickness crawls through my gut. Not grief. Not fury. Not even loneliness.
Justrot.
My breath catches. I sit up straighter, fingers twitching on the tabletop.
Nathaniel notices immediately. “What is it?”
I swallow. How do I explain it?
“She’s…” My voice falters. I shake my head, trying to shake off the feeling slithering beneath my skin. “It’s hollow. Like… all kindness is missing from her.”
Nathaniel doesn’t speak, waiting.
I exhale sharply. “Like someone scooped her out and left a shell behind. She’s… a bad person, Nathaniel.”
His gaze sharpens. “Did she kill?”
I focus harder, let the feeling settle, let it seep into my bones the way Nathaniel’s did.
But this?
This is different.
This is cold.
Soulless.
Hollow.
Cruelty.
“She killed,” I whisper. “And she didn’t feel a thing.”
Nathaniel’s jaw shifts. “How many?”
I shake my head, bile creeping up my throat. My gut twists, sick with something deep, something ugly.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it’s… a lot.”
I think of her victims. Children that should’ve had futures. People who should’ve been safe. The warmth of life snuffed out by hands that never once hesitated.
A shudder rolls through me. I’ve felt grief. I’ve felt rage. I’ve felt agony that never fades.
But this?
This is the absence of everything.
