Justice isn't enough. I want her blood, but I don't want it spilled on my child-like fingers. I want it washed off of them, with simple gentleness. The kindness she never bothered to save for her own flesh and blood. I want her blood to soak into a warm, wet washcloth, held in loving, caring hands.

I never wanted her blood! She put her blood on my hands, framing a child for a crime no one committed. She covered up her own atrocities by bleeding all over a small body with small hands that only wanted a hug. Some comfort. A mother.

So no. Justice will never be enough. Vengeance will never sate my rage. But sweet words may. And warm cuddles might. Maybe a hug from someone who isn't a bleeding blood relative will make up for what she did and didn't do.

Please, wash my hands. Wash off her sins, and let me have my childhood back. Cleanse my soul of her tainted blood, until the water runs clear.