*Dimos*
I shoot up out of the chair, cross over to the fireplace, and slam my fist against the mantel. Then I grab it with both hands and press my forehead to it until it's digging into me and becomes painful.
I hadn't realized until this moment that I have been striving to prove that my father had been innocent, had not been involved, had been mistakenly found guilty and hanged. Damn you, Father. Damn you to hell.
Swinging around, I glare at the woman sitting there so serenely, like the cold marble Castor had accused her of being. "I don't believe you."
She never averts her gaze, never blinks. "Yes, you do."
"Where's your Holy book? I will have you swear on it." I huff.
She shrugs "I haven't one. My mother beat Satan out of me and in so doing managed to beat the Goddess out as well.
