<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/cac6/ldb2sod3e1kmii16g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Dianne du Monde </span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">______<br/>Dominatrix <br/>of the World</span></strong></div></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">My breathing is controlled.  I am deliberate in my composure.  My nostrils flare slightly because I am angry.  And vengeful.<br/><br/>Amanda and Danai standing before me, always subservient, are even more cautious, careful.  Their posture is perfect.  They say nothing.  Without movement they strain to understand my emotion and what I want.<br/><br/>“Jaclyn Rosendahl.”  I take several more breaths, not calm, but deliberate channeling.  “She was to deliver diamonds to a fence.  An easy test. . . . <strong>FAILED!!!!</strong>” <br/><br/>. . . “She is to understand that failure is not a word I care to contemplate.  As is true of betrayal as well.  I have told her to run.  I don’t know if she will.  Go to Berlin.  Start there.  Run her down.  Whatever it takes.  Bring her to me.  In transit, you may mete out punishment.  No visible bruises is the only constraint.” <br/><br/>I know what each is thinking: <em>At last!</em>.  But they remain emotionless, poker faced.  <br/><br/>“Go!”  They turn and leave. <br/></span>