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Summary
The memories were hazy. She remembered waking the next morning with a faint, silvery scar on her wrist, sunkissed skin mottled with blue-violet bruises. She tried to remember how she'd gotten the scar but her memories were jumbled. She remembered the storm and the way the thunder had rumbled like a voice whispering in her ear. "Mine…"
Brooke had spent years in therapy, trying to understand memories that made no sense and trying to overcome an existential crisis she couldn't explain. Little did she know that a move to Santa Carla would give her the answers she so desperately sought. Only these particular answers came at a price... her soul.