Only 40

     With an all-mighty cry, he sank to his knees. Directly in front stood a cloaked figure, dark hair cascading off its shoulders. Its face, veiled by its garb, retained features neither feminine nor masculine.

     "Please," he whimpered for the Who-Knows-How-Many-eth time, "I swear...I'll be good."

     The figure stood unconvinced. "I know I wasn't before, but I mean it."

     It held out a hand, reaching for his forearm and tugging firmly.

     "At least ten years? I'll volunteer, I'll go to church! I'll start talking to Sam again!" he struggled frantically as he was dragged through the door, "One year? Please!"