text: I watched Papa kill Mama on a summer’s night, and he knew I had seen. His demon eyes saw me as Mama’s lifeless form fell to the floor and just before he sent me back to bed. I clutched Margaret to my chest tightly as I ran back up the stairs to my room. I locked my door and hide under my covers, hoping he wouldn’t be able to find me. I felt like I would cry or vomit, but I was only silent with shivers. I couldn’t unsee Mama’s once dark blue eyes turn that horrible shade of dull, dead blue; just like Margaret’s. That morning, Papa told us at breakfast that Mama had left to visit her family in the next village over, and I couldn’t say anything. He just looked at me with sharp copper eyes, eyes that gleamed in the light, but fear of what he might do kept me silent. I thought he would keep glaring my way until he could maybe dispose of me, but my silence must have appeased him somehow because he only smiled and turned to the paper he had in his left fist. Only Justine noticed the strange look Papa gave me, and she looked at me once he finally looked away, searching my face for an answer I couldn’t give. Justine was the oldest of us all, and she looked most like Mama. She was already fifteen and her dark hair shined brightly in the sun, matched by her dark indigo eyes and full mouth. Justine was like moonlight where I was sunshine, and she died under the moon’s awful light. Justine took over Mama’s responsibilities in the house by watching us all. She made sure we were all up for breakfast, attended our tutoring times and nagged Simon and Ronan to finish their cursive. Samuel never wanted to eat, stuck in his five-year-old tantrums, and Lily and Stella were much too stubborn to listen. I tried to help with Christopher, but since I was only ten there was still only so much I could do. Justine tried to be a good mom to us, but she couldn’t understand where Mama had gone. After the first week, she only asked twice for when Mama would be back, and Papa said in a fortnight. So by the third week, Justine asked Papa five times when Mama would be back and Papa told her in a month. Then when the month passed, she asked again, but Papa never gave her a response. It was then that Justine started to ask more questions, and Papa needed to make her stop. I was playing with Margaret, plaiting her hair like mine and making her a new dress out of Lily’s too small summer dress. I had taken to doing my work on the table in the dining area after breakfast, but Justine always tried to make me leave early so she could set up lunch places. I hated having to move, she could never just let me stay in one spot. I had the scissors in my hand, ready to start cutting the outlines for Margaret’s Aline skirt just when she picked up my things and threw them on the side table. She didn’t even place it softly so all my pins fell out of the pattern I had formed from the bunched up fabric. “Why do you continue to play with dolls like a child, Annabelle?” asked Justine condescendingly. I loved my sister, but my disdain for her sometimes overshadowed my love for her. “Margaret needs a new dress for next season. Since Mama’s not here I have to do it.” Justine looked at me sternly. “So it’s true then? Did mama leave Papa without taking any of us? That’s why he won’t tell us where she really is?” I thought about telling her the truth of Mama’s disappearance, but for one reason or another, I didn’t want to warn my overly pretentious sister of anything. Instead, I shrugged in her direction and picked up Margaret from the table with her lifeless eyes, all while humming to myself as I left the room. “You are such a spoiled child, Anna! No wonder mother didn’t take you with her!” yelled Justine. I thought about yelling the same point in kind, but the truth of the matter made me giddy; to know something Justine did not. After dinner that night, Justine and I put all the younger children to sleep, but when we went into our rooms to prepare for bed Justine seemed so distracted. She didn’t change out of her day clothes but told me to sleep without her. It was when I heard the fifth step of the stairs creak that I knew she was going to confront Papa, and I couldn’t help my own curiosity. I grabbed Margaret and followed after Justine. Papa was downstairs, sitting in Mama’s armchair by the fireplace when Justine approached him. I was once again hiding at the base of the stairs, a scene before me that was all too familiar. “Father, where is Mama? Please just tell me the truth. I've heard rumors in town, the other women are saying that Mama just left. That can’t be true, right?” Asked Justine. Papa looked at her then, blinking his gaze slowly but his copper eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul. “Please, I need to know. That just can’t be true!” Justine yelled then. Papa stood, and I feared he would lunge towards Justine and her dead body would fall to the ground, but instead, he grabbed her arm violently as he dragged her outside. Papa dragged her from the house under the moon’s beam and I couldn’t help but think Justine looked like a stray black cat being dragged back outside. I stood at the window to watch, too afraid to interfere. Papa dragged Justine across the dirt of the field, her tears drying on her face in black streaks from the dust flying up. I could see Justine’s dress ripping the further he took her into the open land and her blood stained the fabric has her skin broke open from the exposed rocks. Finally, Papa stopped when he reached the chopping block for the firewood. I don’t know why I didn’t shout for help, I’m sure Ronan and Simon could have saved Justine that night, but I only watched. Justine’s face was twisted by horror and pain as Papa held her left leg over the block, her other failing about as she tried to fight back. Papa ignored her attempts to fight him off, holding her leg with his left hand as he grabbed the ax with his right, moving his arm up to arc it back down and into Justine’s leg. He wiggled the ax out of the bloodied flesh only to bring the ax back over his head and back down in an arc until the bottom half of Justine's was completely severed from the rest. Justine should have screamed, I swore I could see her mouth opening and her throat tightening as if the sound were emitted, but I heard nothing. Her other leg and arms went much the same way, cut just at the joints, but no sound came from Justine. Papa dragged her body into the shed after that and I was too afraid to get caught again so I ran back upstairs with Margaret and wept myself to sleep. The next morning Justine wasn’t in her bed and I panicked with thought of where she could be, memories of Mama’s dead body falling to the floor replayed in my mind. I dressed quickly and ran downstairs, ready to warn my siblings of the evil man disguised as our father, but Justine was sitting in her chair across from mine. She seemed fine but inside I knew she must already be dead. Papa came into the room then, taking his seat at the head of the table. Because of Justine's silence, Simon started asking when Mama would be back five minutes into breakfast, but it was Justine that answered him. “Mama will be back soon, she’s just visiting Aunt Nora until winter.