I could see him looking sleazily at my daughter as he said it, he had been looking and squirming for most of the night, whether he knew I was watching... did not seem to matter, her freshness and youthful vitality, acted like a powerful aphrodisiac, and his eyes widened as her short skirt rode high, exposing her panty-line, something I suspected she was doing on purpose, my daughter was a chip off the old block, and watching her was like rewinding some old movie of myself, except I was on the. Sophie had been raised in New Zealand; born April 3rd 1991 at St Georgia’s hospital on was most probably a cold autumn day.Her family had consisted of a Father whose job was a pilot for a well-to-do airplane company who shall go un-named. A stay at home mother and an elder sister born 18 months prior, of course in two years time a younger sister would be born into this darling little family making her the middle child. A family that seemed perfectly normal.If course it wasn’t. As Sophie grew,. Even Jester’s sometimes laugh. I am no clairvoyant, yet neither is the woman without a face. It does not hurt. Even fading memory of pains and aches that happened a million years ago. Time given- all wounds heal. Yet the mask is still there reminding me of what can and cannot be. Destiny it seemed has played a cruel, cruel joke on me. Do not now or forever think I am heartless just because I fear what is behind the mask. We all have our masks, we all have our pretences that never seem to fade. She was always his little sister, but she was so pretty. Now she is an adult and she still has the good looks that I have always liked. This evening I couldn't help but stare at her as she wore a red tight-fitting Christmas dress. I went out on the balcony to get some fresh air. Suddenly the door opens and out comes my sister to my friend. Ingeborg, is her name. I looked at her and said "hello" she replied "hello" and came over to me, she stood next to me, as if she had something to say, she.