It started with her voice, turning even the faintest whisper to a poison. The first time she killed someone, she’d still been in braces. Philip came upon her in the entryway, standing in horror over their driver, her hands around her own throat. The nightmare hadn’t stopped there. Insatiable as a weed, it continued to consume her. Year after year. Little by little. It bound itself to her bones, the way green bittersweet could swallow a tree entire. This morning, she’d woken on a tile floor. One day, she might not wake up at all.
