Red had been Arabella’s favorite color growing up. Red dresses. Red Roses. Red hearts. She had loved everything about red. Except now it covered her hands, and was oozing from a wound in her father’s chest, made by that of a butcher knife. Markus lay gasping on the cold floor of the family’s kitchen, weakly grasping at his daughters hand. So much needed to be said, and yet there was so little time to say it all in.<br/>“Dad…” Arabella’s voice seemed so small and weak, everything was changing to fast. First the strange creatures the News had called terrors was savagely killing every human in sight, and now her father was dying.<br/>“Arabella, l-listen…” Her father’s words sputtered, blood now clearly in his mouth. “D-draw… Amazing t-things… B-beautiful things…” Arabella grasped her father’s hand tightly, as if that would keep him from leaving her. Tears swelled in her eyes, and then poured over her cheeks. Her mother, Jane, just now arrived, frantically putting a towel over Markus’s chest wound and then adding pressure.<br/>Markus put a hand to his wife’s check, stopping her. “I-it’s time dear…” He coughed, blood pooling at the corners of his mouth.<br/>“Markus… Damn it Markus don’t you die on me! Don’t you-“<br/>“I l-love you both… So m-much…” And with those final words, a slow gurgled breath left his lungs, his hand falling limp in Arabella’s clutch.<br/>Jane instantly grabbed her daughter as strangled animal like sounds poured from her daughters lungs, Jane muffled them against her chest, rocking back and forth slowly. If they were to be heard by the Terrors, they would not live to see the light of tomorrow. Markus was gone, and now Jane would have to defend her daughter Arabella alone.