It started all started that day.
The day Papa France came back home, his clothes ripped and hair messy. For as long as I've lived under him, I've never seen him look like this.
"Papa? Is something wrong?" I didn't want to notice his shaking. I didn't want to notice the blood on his expensive uniform. I didn't want to notice a lot of things that made me think one thing...
Papa France must have lost that war against Eyebrows.
"Michigan... Isabelle. Je suis désolé. B-But I am no longer your papa." His eyes were looking away from me, towards the ground, his blond locks covering his eyes from me.
"... That's not funny papa." I didn'