Mercy Is For Saints by Joan Morven

I’ve snapped necks with my hands.

Watched men choke on their own teeth.

Violence doesn’t haunt me, it feeds me.

Then she appeared.

She kills like she’s praying. Now I can’t stop watching.

I know her rituals, her scent, the exact arc of her blade.

She became mine the moment her darkness touched my own

She just doesn’t know it yet.

She can fight. She can run. She can bleed me dry.

I’ll still drag her back.

Because there’s no world where I let her go.

She thinks she chose me, but truth is, she never had a chance.