The woman standing in front of her was no longer Iris' hollow soul.
This was Ciara's original hollow soul.
Her skin was pale and ashen, cracked like dry earth. Dark blood trickled from her eyes and lips, dripping onto the floor in uneven splashes.
Rosaline swallowed hard, her gaze darting around the room.
Regret flickered in her expression as she imagined the pain her madre and sister must have endured in this very place.
"I don't need your pity!" Ciara snarled, her voice a low growl. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, trembling with rage.
The bitterness in her tone cut through Rosaline like a knife. For a moment, her resolve faltered as she took in the anger and sorrow blazing in Ciara's eyes.
But she quickly steeled herself, puffing out her chest and stepping closer with a determined glare.
