IG/RA - Kilina D.

The hardest part was not living the way I lived, no. The hardest part was when he brought me back. In the year and a half that I was on the run, I gradually began to feel. Live. Rejoice in every new day. Trust people. Wounds gradually began to heal, scarred, in place of burned alive skin appeared new. And it was too thin and gentle, soft, when he threw me into this heat again. I promised myself I'd find him and destroy him. It was the only thought that helped me survive. I kept thinking about him, about how I'd kill him, how I'd bathe in his blood. I hated him with all my heart for not letting a bullet in my forehead, and I gave me to those jackals. For the way he smirked, took an envelope with money and calmly left without even turning around. It's called Lazarus. And I'm going to kill him.