Rescuing Her

Lyle wanted her mother to stroke her hair. She used to laugh when Mila would try and make hundreds of plaits in her hair on the pretext that she was bonding with her. She recalled the apple and orange trees that her father had planted, which were laden at this time of the year. Her mother was making marmalade for her when she last saw them in the house. 

Mila had ensured that her daughter’s room would be covered in the shades of blue and green. The drapes, bed sheets and even the small rug on the floor were either blue or pink. 

Suddenly her hand touched something very cold and sharp—her dagger. She picked it up immediately. “If we ever see him again, we are going to kill him, Grisha!” 

This time Grisha didn’t answer. 

She was about to reach the o