“Why did you run, Ella Christian?” I ask her softly, skimming the flat side of the blade down to her throat, pale even in the darkness around us. At this, she chokes out a laugh. “Are you kidding?” There’s amusement and a hint of fear in her words. “Have you seen yourself?” She laughs again, and it sounds childish. Unsettling. “I know a devil when I see one.” “And just how many devils have you met?” I ask her, leaning down close, the blade still against her neck. I hear her swallow. “Not many,” she admits, “but every time I look in the mirror, there’s one staring back at me.”
