I laid two knives beside her hip as she rested on her stomach. Drawing back the hair from her neck, I ran my fingertip along her skin, an invisible line that curved past her shoulder blade and down the right side of her body.
I traced the line again. And again.
This would be the first.
With the sharp edge of the first knife, I drew a fine line of white that stretched several inches from her neck to her shoulder. The last inch drew tiny beeds of blood. I placed the knife at the top of the line and leaned into the edge so that the tip pressed into the groove of the first impression. I took my time, letting the weight of the knife do the work until tiny drops of crimson dotted the length of the line.
It was a start.