it is too late to look back, Wendy should step over fears and learn to fly, because Kluchnik wants it, her unconscious part wants it.

Nastya rises to the eaves, the wind waves the dress, only one star is burning in the night sky, but which is the brightest.

“It seems to be Sirius,” she thinks sadly.

Darkness opened up below, an indifferent stream of cars streamed through the main arteries of the city.

I do not stand up, get up from the only place in the auditorium, go up to Pozner, whisper loudly in his ear:

- Are you sure that there is a need for this?

He looks at me with a glass, aloof look, like a man in deep prostration.

- Need? What is the need? - his tone of an old man flirting with a child has not changed a bit.

Posner poses as a Buddhist philosopher, yoga, meditation, trans, and autotrenning master. Only his whole philosophy is based on a flawed world view, in which slaves allegedly choose their own way of life. Vivacity, the subconscious desire to be a victim in all circumstances, is rooted in every woman, he says. We don’t choose slaves, they choose us. We are only guides, tools for satisfying female instincts.

“The instinct of self-destruction is the strongest female instinct after degradation,” Posner tells me a little later.

In the meantime, he stands with his head turned to the sky, his shoulders straightened, his arms outstretched, imagining himself a god, who takes the victim.

“Nastya, give me your hand,” I step neatly towards her, my heart pounding in my chest, like a fish thrown on dry land.

She turns around, an expression of awkwardness over what is happening on her child's face. This expression is replaced by a guilty forced smile.

“Excuse me,” she says shyly, like a girl experiencing an incredible embarrassment.

And jumping ...

***

I will not tell you about all the horror that I experienced standing on the roof of the “Sail”, listening to the girlish heart-rending cry, rapidly moving away into the abyss of the night. Let me just say that the Seven Keys sect leaves no traces, and the young female body, broken into a cake on the asphalt, in all likelihood of suicide, causes a lot of questions even among the townsfolk, not like the investigators.

Nastya flew over a hundred meters of a thirty-storey building to land on a circus net temporarily stretched by two workers. They received an order from Wendy's sister, received a fee in full and did not fully believe that the fall of a girl suffering from suicidal tendencies would take place. But when she arrived, all doubts about the mental state of the sister, which they had initially mistaken for a mentally ill millionaire, and about the state of Wendy herself, disappeared, and, hitting the ground, she hysterically, repeating:

- This is not enough, not enough ... to fly.

A caring sister appeared, thanked the rescuers, and withdrew with a dying suicide. She barely swapped her legs, disheveled, in a blue satin dress, with a blurred make-up on her face.

The workers shrugged their shoulders, turned down the shop and left, leaving the rare nighttime onlookers to talk frustrated. Their interest was never satisfied.

I stood nearby, trembling with nervous shock, not tired of reliving Nastya’s fall from the roof of the Sail. Posner disappeared somewhere, I was left to myself and to the heavy thoughts that were beating me.

It has only been a couple of weeks since joining a new role, and my search has not moved a single step.On the contrary, it seemed that I was at a dead end from which there was no way out.

Such behavior - unconditional obedience, holy faith in the word - showed all, without exception, slaves in relation to their Klyuchnik. From the first day, or rather from the first vaginal penetration, my girls disappeared into the smallest expressions of will that emanated from me. In addition, they themselves intrusively searched for ways to guess my desires, to become addicted. It seemed that their conscious part constantly resisted the inner voice, alien, cold, calculating, and the unconscious lived separately. They constantly lived in conflict with themselves, with an inner voice. At a certain level, the girls perfectly understood that everything that happens to them destroys them. But as an incurable drug addiction or mental disorder, which is terribly ashamed, which is carefully concealed, and in which only themselves are blamed, the slave disease struck the girls from the inside, caused adaptation and ultimately addictiveness to submission. The idea to complain, to ask for help did not even arise, because the girls firmly believed that they themselves were to blame for the spiritual evils that unexpectedly manifested themselves in such a strange way. In addition, they were ashamed of predilection for masochism, how people are ashamed of venereal diseases, how girls complex about crooked nose, improper bite, strabismus. Only worse, much worse. Nobody taught them to lie, what to say and how to act. They chose how to dodge, sneak away from my mother's questions, what to say to the brother so that he would not worry.

They were with Klyuchnik at the same time and at the same time fiercely hated him. I felt it on an intuitive level, every time when I met girls with my eyes, when I watched their reactions.

“The keymaster's ring is a curse,” Posner said once. “If your eggs were cut off during the Trial, then, as a martyr, you most likely would have gone to Paradise.” And so ... - he ominously smiled, gleaming with a gold tooth.

And so the death of the Keymaster is incomparable with the death of the martyr. The first commandment of the Book of Seven Keys is:

"Only death will separate Klyuchnik with the Ring."

The Book does not specify what kind of death will befall Klyuchnik, who decided, for example, to retire, but I think a distraught slave, one or several, will get the apostate out of the ground and will be torn to pieces, it is only necessary to convince them that he is a devil Ada or his blood is absolutely necessary for flying under the moon.