Flesh house

The moment the girl fell was the moment she died. And the girl died a long way before she hit the ground.

Krita Winters is a flesh doll, a runaway. She hides in the new world from the puppet master. Her solitude, however, does not last.
Yet it is not he who pulls the strings.

Chaos, horror, conflict. The world is a grim place. And it continues to be beyond the bloodwood, the first volume of Flesh house.
------

Extract from book;

Velairn stood frozen as he watched the tar of a black heart leak. Krita Winters was worse than a monster. People were monsters. Throughout Velairns long life he had seen that: watched them switch. The worst, he thought, watching as Winters tore through his men, leaving nothing to be desired, were those who had been good. Often too good.

Krita was rage. Pure, undiluted rage. Velairns men; his brothers, the creatures of Jade's hearth fire, could do no damage. The only stain Krita bore was the mark of herself. And that was f-cking darkness.

She was a black hole, sucking and crushing everything in sight.