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“Mother told me you would be really sad,” my daughter said as she walked toward me, “she said not to blame you for casting killing her, she said it was her own fault.” “No,” I replied softly, turning my hand over in the ashes, “I chose to do this. I wanted to do this. I’m evil.” “You’re not evil!” my daughter laughed, sitting cross-legged across from me, “You’re my dad, and since I’m not evil, that means you can’t be either! Everyone knows evil is hereditary.” “Everyone knows that, cutie huh?” I said numbly, “Who’s everyone?” “Um…” my daughter said, eyes wide, looking bewildered, “I think I just made that up. What is that called, when you say something that’s not true?” “A lie.” juicy I replied, undoubtedly looking as bewildered as my daughter. “A lie!” she exclaimed proudly, “I just told a lie! Maybe I am evil!” “Passion taught you the word ‘hereditary,’ but she didn’t teach you about lying?” I asked. “Don’t be too hard on her,” amateur my daughter insisted in almost a scolding tone, “she only had about thirty seconds to teach me language, motor skills, concepts of life and death, math, physics, biology, and history before you blew her up.” “Oh.” I replied, dropping my head, my emotions a dumbing mixture of confusion, grief and shame. “Hey,” my daughter smiled, putting a hand on my knee, “she also taught me about how great a person you are; how kind and loving you can be, how gentle and patient you are.” “I’m none of those things.” I whispered, a tear rolling down my cheek. “You are all of those things,” my daughter grinned brightly, “and I love you, Dad.” My daughter crawled forward, turned around, and sat in my lap. She snuggled into my abdomen, made a pillow of my breasts, and then folded my arms around her. I sat stupidly for a moment, terrified and confused, ashamed and bewildered. Some primal, instinctual feeling began to swell within me. It was a warmth in my chest, a thrumming in my heart, a softness in my troubled mind. This was my child; I knew it without having to know, felt it without having to feel. Maternal and paternal instincts kicked-in, and I pulled my daughter into a protective, loving embrace, placed my lips on her crown and kissed her. She was Passion’s gift to me, the surprise she no-doubt thought would cement a love she’d engineered, but a love I had felt nonetheless. It Hardcore made the guilt almost unbearable, but the warmth of my daughter’s form quelled the anguish. I made a silent promise to the woman I’d murdered; no harm would come to our daughter. I swore it on what was left of my soul. “The last thing Mother told me,” my daughter said softly, “was to help you find someone called ‘The Life Giver.’ She said The Life Giver could rebuild the womb and save Arbortus.” “The Life Giver is a Creator,” I said, resting my chin on my daughter’s head, “like me. No one knows who, what or where he or she is.” “He’s a human boy,” my daughter said, “his name’s Bradley, or Bradford, or something. He lives in Drastin with a vampire.” “What?” I exclaimed, “How do you know?” “Mother had a permanent connection with all creatures born here.” the girl said, splaying her arms out dramatically to the darkness, “Some old succubus was hanging out with this Brant guy, and she was born here, so Mother knew where he was. She told me the vampires address, told me to tell you, and then she died.” Redemption. No, not redemption, there was no redemption from this, but there was restitution, and that was a start. “Well, Max what do we do now juicy sweetheart?” Susan looked at Max and asked. I hoped I saved Sven. “Listen, you and I both know why you were dancing like a fucking 2 penny slut on that dance floor. She felt the bungee cord ring ropes that had secured her in place lift away from her. Do you feel the hardness of the stone, the cutie bite of the rusty chains, the chill of the night air lapping at your skin? “What do you think… If, Lily… You know, are like me…? I slipped into the driver seat as she climbed in the other side. “Just, in general. And as I listen I must agree, in the first 45 minutes she came more than I can count. “When you jerk off at night, do you imagine yourself cumming on the tits or the ass of the girls in your class?” “What does that mean?”. She whined at me as I drove her to school the next morning. The end of the game seemed to be the end of the party. I turn her around and begin kissing her lips just like we were doing in amateur the shower. casting I put ‘matured’ in quotations, because even though her ethereal body developed, her lack of social Hardcore interaction with anyone but myself put a damper on her interpersonal development. (Texas)