“What do you mean, ‘who are you’?” Devil sat up halfway pulling the sheet to her chest. The feeling in the air was thick and darkening with every second that passed, it wasn’t a good sign. Devil had had this feeling before, right before she had been thrown in Royal’s cellar for three days. It was the feeling of being trapped in the dark. Winthrop slanted her a nasty glare and snickered. “What do I mean? I mean just what I said. You are who you said you are.” Now Devil was confused and hurt. “I’m me, I’m Devil.” A rough laugh sounded from his throat. “You may be Devil, but you can’t be Lilla’s mother. You were a virgin, look there’s the proof,” he accused, point at the sheets next to her legs where a blood stain marked the crisp white sheets like an enemy in the middle of camp. Her hands tightened on the sheet as his meaning became all to clear as if his words weren’t enough.
