“Come,” he said, and guided me along the cobbled path through the cemetery. We’d only gone a few feet, however, when he stopped suddenly and rubbed my tender wrist. “Ivy, how long have you had this marking?” I shrugged casually. “After something that happened to me as a teenager.” Of course, I didn’t want to tell Lucius about my past. About how I could not defend myself from a horrific assault that ended up taking my innocence, in more ways than one. The small scar symbolized the loss of all of life’s joys, an outward symbol of the memories lurking in the dark recesses of my mind. Memories I refused to consider ever sharing with anyone. “Ivy, this is very important to me, to my kind.” I did not truly understand what Lucius was going on about, and I did not want to talk about my scar or the things the tiny mark represented. I tried to pull my hand out of his, but he held onto it effortlessly.
