Mental attack 3

D, we meet at long last. The voice was like the wind sweeping the fields
of ice. How I’ve waited . . . with just one thing I’ve been wanting to ask.
D’s whole body tensed.
Whatever question she asked, to grant that request would mean death
for his psyche. His enemy’s trap was perfect.
I want to know the name of your father.
And so the question came. The question to which this woman knew the
answer better than anyone else.

For the first time, a dark shadow resided in D’s serene beauty. The wind
became even more insistent, and, as D grew ever colder, the icy plains dyed
his shadow even darker.
Please answer me, D. What’s your father’s name? What is it? What is
his name?

D’s lips parted ever so slightly. The tiny tremble in his cheek testified to
the intensity of the battle of wills he was now engaged in.

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