Ages without a worthwhile target. Countless drops of water, barely disturbing the surface as they slid down the edge of my blade into the pool. But now, finally, Father may have given me a target who will cause a ripple. My blade may finally quench her thirst with worthwhile blood. I may yet again feel 'alive.' I may yet again feel pride in my title: 'Proxy.'
30 days. Try to stop me.