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.