I realized London had snuck in, through my pores, beneath my skin, and through my bloodstream- London had latched itself to my soul. No, that wasn’t right- London had coaxed my soul His way and had taken it captive. There I was, a helpless victim of Stockholm Syndrome, being held somewhere far beneath St. Paul’s. And now, there was absolutely no going back to my old life. For I’d, not in the waking hours, ripped my heart out, my icy, heavy heart, and tossed it off Westminster Bridge and into the Thames. I’d watched it sink, knowing, more than I knew anything else, that it would stay there for eternity.