“She’s dead.” My voice sounded like an ache. “You can’t touch her anymore.” Something like a man’s laughter rumbled into my ear; almost a wolf’s chortling growl. I felt hands reach past me, and it was then I realized I was clutching Johanna’s body, skin warm enough still to be mistaken for living. I don’t need her alive. It began to peel her from my arms. Tried to, at any rate. Laughter clawed out of me, a rasp of noise that broke then into shrieking. I tightened my grip. Teeth sunk into my shoulder, a warning. Pain rippled across me like a grease fire. Mine. My body to use. My body to bury in
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