Prisoner. She was a prisoner in a hotel room, ten floors off the ground, sentenced to die a slow death by melting.The exertion of yanking at the stubb...rn window unleashed a lone bead of sweat from the rear of her jaw. A bead that trickled down her neck, collecting with several more, that were forming in the hollow at her throat. Once more, she gave up."Fuck," she muttered under her breath, resting her forehead on the window.The glass was cool by comparison, prompting her to roll her head slowly. But my father made it clear from the beginning that I must keep my clothes on in company at all times. A kiss stolen now and then from the little boys who followed me as if I was playing haunting music on a pan pipe was small comfort. ***** The real trouble began when I hit puberty. Up until then, while I was versed in the practice of my craft and knew it all by heart, I had no great urge toward using it, not being presented by opportunity. However, the boys in my school recognized the scent of. More

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