𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Prolouge

Sera could remember the day her mother and baby sister disappeared as if it had happened yesterday. For the past ten years she had been plagued by the memory; their screams, the fire, and the blood.

Oh, how she remembered the blood.

Blood covered almost every surface of her childhood home. There's so much of it, too much of it. It covered the walls, the chairs, it covered her as well.

It was in her hair, on her dress, under her fingernails. How was it under her fingernails?

That was the only thing she couldn't remember. How did she get blood under her fingernails?

Sometimes she could still see the red stains under her nail beds. She had almost torn her nails off trying to scrape the remnants out from under them.

But they never went away. Her fingers were stained red with the blood of her mother and sister.

Alessandra and Dorcas Hale's bodies were never found. Sera had been questioned multiple times where the bodies went, and each time she told them it was the Devil.

Of course, no one believed her. The Devil didn't exist, they said. She was a child and in shock, and shock does crazy things to the mind. It pulls images from our imagination and turns it into what we want to see, it becomes something we can blame.

Sera didn't want to see the Devil. But deep down, in the deepest part of her belly, she knew what she had seen.

The Devil had taken her mother and baby sister. And he had left her. Why? Why didn't he take her too? Why did he leave her?

Why did he let her live?