Ice
He closed the door to Victor’s family home and locked it with stolen keys.
The sky was purple, but morning was still far from now.
He pressed his forehead against the wood and let out a shuddering breath.
The chickens were squawking, happy and confused at their early dinner, and the sheep were ducking in and out of the sheepcote curiously.
He didn’t know how long it would take someone to notice what had happened at this house. But God forbid it be longer than a day. Lambs and chicks didn’t deserve to go hungry just because of this.
Elias had tried his best. Did what his mother would have wanted him to do.
Laid them in their beds on their backs, arms gently crossed, sheets neatly pressed around them to preserve their modesty. Cleaned the blood where there had been some.
Placed the body of their manservant in the same way, though he had been reading in a chair when he and Elias met.
Prayed over them, all. Individually and together.
Threw water on the embers of their hearth so the fire didn’t set the house alight. Blew out their lanterns.
Left their money, ingot, and gems safely tucked in boxes.
Locked their house.
Buried the keys under the tree.
Buried Margarite’s boy under the tree.
Buried his eyes that looked like prey.
Buried.