Katalina had permanently marked herself with the words I’d said to her the first night we met: You’ll live because if you don’t, you’ll die. Around it all were skulls and roses and dying flowers of all sorts, wrapped in jewels and strings of pearls in the most intricate detail I’d seen in a long time. I’d never gotten that good a look at it all until tonight. It was art that represented her more than I think she would ever know. I saw her in the world of the family, trapped as a prized possession, trapped by the beauty she flaunted for us. She let herself be used over and over again as bait,
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