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Moiety
Chapter Eleven: Silence
Samara has never been afraid of silence.
She knows the blaring emptiness of screams, the sharp bitterness of dead words, the halting weight of a last breath. She knows these intimately and dearly. She knows their sound in the throat of her broken daughter.
When Morinth is lying still and finished on the floor at her feet, Samara lifts her bloodied hand to the light and listens.
Her daughter's blood is caked into the creases of her palms, and even now, it sings to her.
It is the noise of death, rather than the silence of life, that terrifies her.