_What would be the color of my soul? _

_Its weight. Its shape. Its size._

_Would it be marred by choices, or would it reflect the vision others see?_

Thoughts meandered through Jonah’s mind as he methodically cleaned his mess. Another entitled aristocrat had thought he could get handsy with one of Requiem’s bar staff.

Now the only thing the man was handsy with was the cold plastic lining of a tra...