Jolene preferred small cuts to messy battles.
They didn't leave blood on the floor, just little marks that itched until you scratched them raw yourself.
The first cut came at breakfast.
Clara walked in to find her chair moved—now directly facing the portrait of Luna Violet. Sunlight hit the frame just so, making the lilies at the base glow.
“Morning," Jolene sang. “I thought you'd like the view."
Clara sat, meeting her mother's painted eyes for the entire meal. She chewed slowly, letting the ache pass through her chest and settle into the cold place where she kept it.
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The second cut was logistical.
That afternoon, Clara went to retrieve the supplies she'd requested from the greenhouse—her signature already approved on the form. The storeroom door was locked, the paper gone.
Mr
