Erika placed one foot in front of the other as she crept to the door. Her breaths were fast and rushed and the knife shook in her hand.

The door was already open, so she took the invitation walk right in. There was her victim, sipping on the usual mug of coffee and reading the occasional book. He looked up to her and his eyes widened.

"Erika! What are you doing here?" His words were surrounded by laughter, but the levity of his tone did nothing. "Aren't you supposed to be with your mother right now?"

Erika said nothing, merely nodding to his words. She continued walking, concealing the knife behind her.

"...Erika?"

She stopped in front of him, and by now he realized that something was very wrong. He realized it too late though.

"I thought I could trust you."

"Erik-"

He didn't finish his sentence. He couldn't. The sickening crush of bone and slurp of blood on the butter knife said as much. Erika thought the house was empty.

But I was there. And I watched her kill Father.