Where the Blood Lies

Previously

…My gaze fell on the symbol again, this time etched onto the grandfather clock in the hall. It was everywhere, a constant, taunting reminder. The Weaver was toying with me, leaving his mark, ensuring I knew he was in control. But he was wrong. He thought he was weaving a tapestry of despair, but he had only strengthened the threads of my resolve. My family’s blood lay on this floor, and I would not let their deaths be for nothing. I would use my mother’s words, her secrets, to unravel his twisted design. I would hunt the Weaver. And I would survive. The first thread had been pulled, and the tapestry of vengeance was about to be unraveled.