The walls of this prison are closing in on me. Moving so quickly that if I close my eyes I know they will crush me. How long

have I been here? I am nowhere near accuracy in my conjecture. At night, after the last straggling curious faces have passed

by, and the last threats have been issued, I am left to my own devices. I am left to nothing more than thoughts. And

thoughts slip away so that you wish you only had string long enough to tether them to the earth. But they break from the

moors of the mind and wash away in the tides that bring the new. Invariably, with no execption, my thoughts turn to my

child. And she is very much my child. A thought that both thrills and frightens me.

I remember her warm little body pressed so trustingly against mine. That and memories so like it kept my blood warm on

nights when it wanted to freeze. Touch itself used to be such a common occurence. Trust, too.

Now, I can count on one hand the number of times I have touched my daughter. Each time was a timid grasp or an uncertain

stroke of my hand upon her cheek. Neither of which are fitting to women such as us. When Cuvee was watching me in

Taipei like the voyeuristic sadist that he is, I wanted to turn away from her.

Storm down the hall and put a bullet into his head. Set her free.

But I could not. Things had already been set into motion before the arrival of my daughter. And I would not sacrifice them.

So I had to sacrifice her. In such a way that it sickened me. I sacrificed her to save her but I was full with shame.

I saw her reel backwards as the chunk blew forward from her shoulder. I left the room and choked down vomit before

returning to Cuvee. A loyalty proven. And a trust broken.

That night I dreamed she was an infant. Giggling and laughing as I washed her in the tub. Her flaccid, baby's limbs depending

upon me for support. I held her up gently, holding her head above the water before she slipped from my grasp.

Yesterday on the roof I grabbed her because if I had not I would've sunken to my knees and lost my self in my tortured grief.

We were pressed together again. I reclaimed her. I wrapped my arms around her and my bitter tears flowed like a river

undammed. I defy anyone to try and hurt her like I did. I defy Jack to keep her from me. I'll rip this cell apart and

do the same to Sloane if she is his victim.

I defy Rambaldi and his prophecies, Satan and his minions, or Jesus and his saints to take her away from me.