Chapter 37 Esmeralda's Pov

• I stare at my finger, turning it over again and again, searching for any trace of the cut. There is nothing. No scar, no mark, just smooth, unbroken skin.
• The logical part of my mind screams that I must have imagined it, that it is impossible for a wound to heal itself in seconds. But the memory of it…of the blood vanishing, the skin stitching itself together, is too vivid to ignore.
• My pulse pounds in my ears as I grab the knife again, my hands trembling. I need to know if it was real. If whatever had just happened would happen again.