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Forensics were moving about the room collecting evidence. She crouched down beside the body of the dead woman and gently moved the hair off her face. Dead bodies always made her feel sad. She had never felt the revulsion or fear others felt at seeing the dead. To her, this was merely an empty shell, emptied of everything that had made it a living being. An empty shell bearing the trauma of its final moments. Bruises emerging, blood congealing, the eye empty and hollow. Signs of struggle, of a desperate clinging to life, last breaths gasping, fighting, fighting then no more.
It pained her to see the horrific wounds. She always wanted to stroke their hair, tell them she was sorry, that she wished she could have been there to save them. In some ways, she felt she had failed them. She wished she could have prevented their deaths, not just solve their murders. But she couldn't. So she did all that she could do.
It had to be enough.

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