“Who would have guessed that the three-year-old little girl with curly golden hair and squishy pink cheeks would have me wrapped around her little finger for the rest of my life?” He sighs, stroking her cheek with his tan fingers. His brow knits together in affliction or sorrow at the sight of her. “Dessin spent years in that asylum, being tortured endlessly, so much so that new alters had to split off just to endure each sadistic treatment. All for my sweet Skylenna.”
