The last sound vitoria de luna remembered was gun shot.
Her father's study smelled of cederwood and expensive ink. He was writing when the shot rang out and she was standing at the doorway frozen.
Blood soaked her shoes before she could move, before she could screem.
She never scream again.
Years went by--- the lab,the betrayal, the silence . No one ever asked her what she saw that day.
They just blamed her for surviving.