Cypril.
The moment I saw the oil splattered across Melissa’s arm and dress, something inside me recoiled.
It wasn’t visible.
It didn’t reach my face.
But I felt it.
A sharp, instinctive jolt, so sudden and visceral it was almost violent. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, before I could fully register what I was seeing.
The sheen of oil glistening against her skin.
It clung to her like a second layer, reflecting the harsh kitchen lights. Tiny beads slid slowly down her forearm, trailing over fabric that had darkened where it soaked in. The smell hit a second later, burnt oil and something else. Something dangerously close to skin.
She stood too still.
That was what unsettled me most.
No frantic shaking. No dramatic cry. Just stillness. Controlled. Contained.
Her jaw
