I slit the knife across the palm of my hand and see blood well up from the cut. I close my hand and and hear the sizzling sound of the drops evaporizing on the hot coals. I hear applause and yelling, shut my eyes and take in the sudden feeling of relief. My name is Azaelia Storm. I am 18 years old. My mother disappeared when I was 16. My father has blamed me ever since. But it's over now. I'm free.