"She certainly looks more likea little girl than boy." Doesn't she just? I'm surprised her mother doesn't dress her like thisall the time," Alison replied. I didn't know whether to feel frightenedor excited by her candid observation, and wondered if my Mummy ever hadthe same thought?While Alison replaced the baby powder on the shelf above the changetable, Jill leaned over my cowering form to examine my powder-coatedgenitals. "God it's tiny," she announced disdainfully. "No wonder she'drather be a girl than a boy. She'd never be able to satisfy a real womanwith that tiny thing." She reached over and viciously flicked the objectunder discussion with the tip of one long lustrous pink fingernail. Myhands leapt to cover my crotch and I squealed and writhed in pain. Shegrabbed my wrists and wrenched my hands aside. Jill's malicious grin onlygrew wider when my shrivelled clittie shrank even more, trying to hideinside my body like a frightened snail retreating into its shell. "Aww!There,. Her time with her father, her time with Moya Tilmitt, her time with Jordan. Their time.Time with Jordan was most of the time. He was always there, sometimes out of sight but never out of mind, a shadow over her shoulder, a glimpse from the corner of her eye. She felt her presence near herself acutely, as if every nerve and sinew in her body were primed for his nearness, as if she were lodestone and he iron, turning ever to face him, turning ever to seek him.The trial of Temaile Daravon was a massacre. Whatever she had seen in Catheryne's eyes that night, it had broken her spirit. She pled guilty--literally pled; she sat in silence through the entire trial, punctuated only by silent tears and the occasional free admittance of her guilt. She spoke of the things they did not know--how her father had, by intuitive leaps of logic, realized what Besson Telocuse's mysterious affliction was; how she had whispered to him in the night, and tempted him with her body, and driven him mad with.
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