Death. 
Heartache. 
Vengeance. 
This isn’t a tale for the tender-hearted, the judgmental, or those who refuse to think outside the box and look at the broader picture. Those who think that everything is black and white. Simple. Cut and dried. 
It’s not. There’s always shades of gray. 
It’s easier to say “I’d never” when you’re sitting safely at home with the people you love most right by your side. When grief hasn’t woven itself so deeply in the fabric of your DNA that it can never be unraveled. There can be no separation. And even if you tried, it would only result in you becoming a frayed and tangled mess.
It’s easy to say you’d never walk the treacherous moral tightrope. But you aren’t the one who plummeted to the depths of hell, littered with the agony of loss and the anger of injustice, and had to claw your way out.
This story isn’t scrawled on pristine white pages in bold black ink. Marred, torn, and blood-spattered, its chapters hold deep gouges inflicted by betrayal. 
This story is about a woman who had everything taken from her.
And how she took it all back.