"Because he—" My strident loved me dies in my throat. It is a lie I stopped believing the first morning I woke up alone in Elysium, glued to the floor by my own blood and shredded organs. The wounds the gatekeepers carved in me had already been healed to hideous scars by Elysium's magic, but the ache remained—the lingering agony of a rough childbirth barely smothered by the stabbing pains of a recent evisceration. If Adam had ever loved me, he certainly hadn't loved me at the end.
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