When the power falls on me, it buzzes in the warm, dark spaces of my skull. It stings like nettles at the tips of my fingers. The power is a fever I have felt since early childhood, a heat in the blood that leaves me flushed and unsteady, dreaming in daylight.
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A little politeness might smooth the way ahead. Knowing it was his turn to be dispatched, the best he could hope for was as swift a death as the one Massetti had so thanklessly received.
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I'm looking forward to the noose. Nothing better than a good hanging.
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And I must smile and dance with this man, and say nothing, for he holds the key to the prison my life has become.
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