Their eyes are the color of smoke, the explosion that had scarred me so horribly, and my little girl's eyes. They are the black of night, the color of burnt flesh, the color of the stars. I had named them all.
Jesse's eyes are almost always closed, only opening in the dead of night.
Flame is always moving, always fixated on me. I could see each of its seven eyes when I awoke to scream from another nightmare.
Claire's are the ones that haunt me the most, the eyes of my daughter. They always seem to be crying.
Dusk is barely noticeable from the darkness, constantly moving and covering the window and the moonlight. It scares me the most.