I like a bad girl shudders through her, down to her core. She looks at Gideon, truly looks at her, with that direct stare she’s long been told was unmannerly. The skull paint, the shorn red hair, the eyes as bright as moonlight. Brighter. Ophelia doesn’t know what to say to a girl like that. “I am whole,” she says, and even that feels like a lie. But she is. She touches her own throat, which her lover did not snap, even when he held her tight enough to choke her.