their footsteps. He read about everything: about all cult leaders before him, his ancestors, their gruesome crimes, their rituals, their blood sacrifices, the sheer size of the cult - everything. With every word, Liam read he found another piece of the puzzle, with every sentence the pain of his sadness turned to anger and thirst for the taste of blood. He threw the letter to the ground, wrapped his fingers around the sharpest object that came into his hands. Blinded by his rage he stabbed the old woman to death. When the realisation of his gruesome crime slapped him in the face, Liam sank to his knees. His attention was caught by a string of unseen letters on the other side of the old parchment. With his hands numb, the boy crawled through the blood.
The whole world started to spin and the only thing Liam could see was the dark letters burnt into his mind: ‘‘PS. What does blood taste like?’’