Justine was born and her mother thought she was sweet, just like her other children. She then placed her almost immediately in a ruffly bassinet at her bedside and went back to reading (well, it wasn’t that immediate, but in history’s hindsight it felt that immediate). Justine’ s mother was a sweet little mouse, a kind little soul, who read books because she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone in particular, especially not YOU, especially not those who were looking at her all the time and expecting her to answer questions. Justine’s father was also sweet, and slightly vermin-like. He worked late at a factory, it doesn’t matter what kind of factory or what they made there, but the fact is is that he worked late, and Justine’s mother was borderline-a-great-many-things but mainly borderline insane, and being alone with six children sent her into strange moods. Usually she just pretended she was one of them, or some sort of benevolent older sister, and when annoyed with the brood given to her she dove headfirst into. Justine was just a pretty little thing, just a sweet little moppet in dotted swiss when her father went away, off with someone who had time to rouge her cheeks and pay attention to his odd sexual requests. Justine’s mother was just a tiny bit crushed, so she read more books, retreated more into herself, and Justine saw everything before and after with her huge blue and grey eyes. She took it in and she studied and she filed it away for future reference and modus. She knew that her father had left for someone slightly magical, someone who never said no, someone who smiled a lot and smoked and smoldered. She vowed to never be a mouse and always be the cat.