Just a teaser thing. I'm having trouble expanding on this so I'll just put this as a prologue.

It was always on Thursday that my father touched me.

My father was a good man--he held his liquor well and was very popular and well-educated. He knew the words to every opera and was a brilliant tenor and violinist, and along with these fortunes he was also exceedingly handsome. The same red hair that I inherited he combed with such precision and meticulous care that it was always shiny and smooth to the touch, and his eyes were a shocking blue-green that were so intense they seemed like jewels. Yet, it seems, just like every monster, his true self came out at night. His demons hid in the shadows that the sun cast, but once the whole of Paris was taken by the darkness, they came out and thrust their wrath onto me. Most times he wasn't even intoxicated or mad--he was just...darker. His eyes, while in the day resembled brilliant emeralds, reminded me of the night when it is gloomiest. When deeds are easily hid.

I dreaded Thursdays. Now, I look at them with a sort of glee, knowing that day will be the day that Paris' streets will be painted red with blood.