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... made Olivia's breath catch. Kafka's then hand moved to Abigaille's head, his fingers threading through her hair as he gently pushed her down, forcing her to look up at him.

"Hey, Mom." He said, his voice a soothing rumble, a playful edge cutting through. "I'm starting to get hungry here. Let's wrap this up so we can get to dinner, like Mom said. Food's probably cold by now." His tone was practical, but his eyes glinted with amusement, his grip on her hair firm but affectionate.

A ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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