“You said the Stitcher came for you twice while you were inside the mines, but you survived both times. What does that mean?” For a moment, Bridgette was silent, her dark eyes inscrutable. Then, slowly, she reached for the blanket draped across her lap. Her long fingers curled into the fabric as she pulled it up. The space underneath was empty. Her legs had been carved away, one at a time, above the knees.
