The contagion came from her Honduran past. Its source was that of a hacienda situated upon pristine land, well-manicured, and tended by gauchos of an innocent looking demeanor. The hacienda was a sham and the innocent appearance of staff and acreage was the devil's design. Here I am again, rapt and attentive to Sarah's further exploits and adventures. Again, do not consider me the author of what was one of the nastiest times in her life. I am but a narrator. Satandor slithers from a time long past. He knew Moses, rebuked the spiritual life of a Levite tending his loamy fields around that Mount of such significance, Sinai. He rebuked it. He dealt in domestic servitude, involuntary prostitution, deceit, abuse, and death abrupt or from neglect. The clash that resounds finally is that between Alexiah and Satandor. Will her flesh submit to him again? She arches in hate and hisses and spits his direction. But is that enough to topple this demon maestro? The crack in ordinary existence rides this tale at the end. And it is a ride to not be missed. Find the saddle, let it rock you, and see if you can stay atop it. You will not regret a moment of holding the reins here. Sarah's eyes glint and gleam as she releases the words. She is a marvel. I cherish all that she says.