As she left the flat with the last of her belongings her fingers brushed against the settee. Even now she can still feel his touch on her skin, his lips branding her flesh, the path of his fingertips carved into the bone. But somehow, she cannot see his face, even as she closes her eyes at night, fingers dipped into the apex of her thighs. She cannot see his dark eyes or tattooed and marred skin. She only sees silver, blue, a snake slithering from the eye of a skull.