Oh. Art had endured another protestant church sermon with his family. He was a man of his faith, sure, but being unable to have a smoke from his pipe was something that he struggled with. Christina was Art and Poppet's oldest child, who was a twelve year old girl.

The churches teachings of purity, and how disgusting it was not to obtain modesty, it had damaged her mental health alot. Art didn't help with that, he further those teachings.

Block was Art and Poppet's youngest child, their only son. Block was obviously non-verbal, probably autistic. But as they lived in an evangelical community, there was no chance he'd get a diagnosis. Praying would do them good. Well, Block wasn't Poppet's child. Art had an affair with a secretary at his job, and she gave birth to Block.

Poppet was pressured into adopting Block, when he was born, by Art. So they did. They didn't discuss it that much. Plus, having a son, in their community, was something to be proud of. And husband's make all of the decisions, so Poppet didn't really have a choice in the matter. She didn't have a choice in anything.

Christina slept in her own room. She was twelve, she didn't own anything that was above the knee, she was too scared of being unpure — Christina wore cardigans over all her dresses. Her room was pink, clean. Block slept in his own room across the hall from hers.

Art and Poppet slept in the same bed. On the wall, above the side of the bed where Poppet slept, was a little embroidery peice, the words "be fruitful and multiply" sewn into it. A disgusting reminder of her place as a woman, her place in their marriage.

It was more of a form of sexual control than anything else. Art liked the feeling of being in control, having her there and available to him whenever he pleased.

Poppet had substance issues. She had many prescriptions, ones she did not need, so that she could survive her days as a housewife.

Cooking and cleaning. Picking the kids up from school, dropping them off. So many other things that you couldn't list them all.

Art had to deal with Poppet being institutionalised a few times a year, when she had psychotic breaks from the stress. The two had met, and Art wanted her to Marry him. She didn't want to, but he proposed to her in church, she couldn't say no.

Poppet was sat in bed beside Art, who was obviously wanting something from her. He took an exhale from his pipe, setting it down on his bedside table. He kissed Poppet's cheek. "I can't believe you did that today. Making such a scene in church, embarrassing me." Art said to Poppet.

"But you're a woman, I can't blame you. Being hysterical like that." he scoffed, looking over her form.

Art looked to the side. "I wouldn't want to have to send you back to the institution until you start behaving again, darling. I really wouldn't want to explain to Christina why mommy had to go and get better." Art said, taking another drag from his pipe, putting on his red velvet robe.