"And Wolferella—" The girl reading her slave a story book paused once she noticed her dolly had gone pale. His eyes lost focus, and his mouth remained slack from screaming all day.
"Oh no, Paul bled to death. Ugh! Such useless doll" She got up and pushed the boy out of the blood-stained seat. The unexpected contact with the hard ground made his limbs contort, but his livid face remained the same.
"You really mustn't play around with knives, my dear." A voice came from behind, and her older brother stood at the doorway, addressing the little girl.
"Young girls like you shouldn't be too keen on the sight of blood."
The girl twisted the bloody knife she'd pulled from the slave's corpse, and a playful look dominated her face.
"But, brother, it is ever so fun." The deep scarlet of the slave stained her black dress, and she painted her fingers along with it.
