While staring at a portrait made of my daughter so many years ago, I cannot help but wonder how Desdemona’s status holds in
Cyprus with our soldiers. What she is seeing, what there is to endure, if she
is being kept safe? When we last spoke, she proved to me that she had indeed
inherited the obstinacy of her father. With that in mind, why is that I still
worry for her so? I know I have not surrendered to the thought of her being wed
to the Moor, yet I feel… I feel that I have less tension surrounding me. She is
my daughter and I am her father. I suppose the instinctual air between two
people of that relationship binds one to worry and pray for the other person’s
safety. I cannot help but love my daughter, despite her surprising actions as
of late. I have heard good news from Cyprus, the Turks have been defeated. The
war is nearing an end. My daughter is
still estranged, yet as my nation’s senator, I still celebrate our victory with
fervor.
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