“No,” Abby whispered. “No, no, no.” At the arrangement’s center was an arm. It was pale, thin, and horribly familiar. The fingers were curled slightly, as though the owner was resting. Two of the fingernails were chipped. The palm held the remnants of lines of ink. The patterns Hope had drawn on herself at the fireside, faded by washing but not entirely gone. There was no body attached to the arm.
Well let's be a little optimistic . Finding an arm doesn't necessarily mean she's dead. Afterall, Bridgette escaped without both her legs.
