They found me caked in my mother’s blood. It’s something Wicker and I always had in common—being brought into this strange house of decadence under a layer of death and decay. Verity’s origin in the palace is also marked in red, and as much as she hates it, there’s something glorious about the way she looks in that white dress, bloody handprints covering her abdomen. To steal a phrase from her Dukes… She’s a fucking victor.
