My voice didn't sound like mine. It was too hollow and too far away. A stranger's voice in my own mouth.
Tears blurred my vision and spilled fast and hard, soaking the hoodie, my hands, and the sheets. I curled in on myself, forehead to my knees like a child hiding from a thunderstorm, except this storm was inside me.
"Why?" I choked. "Why would you do that to her?"
Mamá hadn't deserved it. She hadn't deserved any of it. She was strong, wise, loving—everything a mother was meant to be. And Rosa... Rosa had looked her in the face every day while draining her wolf like some parasite.
"I hate you," I hissed to the room, to the journal, to the mirror across the wall where I saw my own reflection twisted in grief. "I hate you, Rosa. I hate you."
And yet... I still loved her. And that made it worse.
Because how could I mourn one sister while grieving the monster the other had become?
The journal stared at me from the floor, open to the next page.
