Chapter 27

Miah took the girl’s limp, scarred hand into hers, reaching at the same time for her mind. She wanted to examine the child’s memories, to see what had happened to her to make her lie without moving, so lifeless and without hope. At once, a flood of violence and depravity stormed into her. Tears burned and clung to Miah’s lashes. Such a terrible existence. She felt every blow the child had received, every burn, every rape, every act forced upon her, every single act of torture, mental and physical, as if it had been done to her. The scars were on the inside as well as the outside, scars that might fade with time but would never really go away. Her own father had sold her to other men, beaten her repeatedly if she fought them, and punished her each time she attempted to run away. He beat her if she cried and beat her when the men returned her, complaining that she was a wooden doll, uncooperative, and frigid.

The images were terrible: fingers forcing their way into the little body, hand