The Butcher's Bride
Outside, the leaves crunched, not the sound of the wind, but the heavy, synchronized steps of wolves.
Assassins.
"Papa is coming back soon," I whispered, trembling as I curled into the dark, dusty space beneath the floor.
"Papa isn't here, little star. You must be quiet. No matter what you hear, you do not make a sound. Promise me." Her eyes, usually a warm brown, flashed with a strange, violet light I had never seen before. She kissed my forehead, a desperate, final seal. "I love you."