The party dragged on for far too long. Lisbeth's place was not to be standing around waiting for the liquor to stop flowing - her job was to bring the fires of retribution to the enemies of Man, and she was trapped here standing awkwardly in the middle of a hall, half-drunk nobles all around. Outside the sun dipped below the horizon, and the thin fabric of her pink dress was little protection in the chilly hall. The partygoers in their layers of finery - most probably laced with thermal generators sewed into the garments - did not seem too bothered. One made eye contact with Lisbeth as he approached, a thin, lanky young man with slicked-back hair and a brown fur coat fastened with a gaudy, golden aquila. "Siiiister," he said, intonation rising and falling with each long vowel, "a pleasure to meet such a...radiant servant of the Imperium." He leaned into Lisbeth a little, a glass full of sparkling wine swinging dangerously with each movement and threatening to topple altogether. 
"Thank you," mewed Lisbeth. This was not what she was meant for, and these interactions came awkwardly to her - much easier to be among her own sisters, without the need to exchange complicated preening words. 
"No, thank you, for gracing us with your presenccce," the baron smiled, swaying gently. The stink of alcohol on his breath and the red in his eyes betrayed his intoxication. Lisbeth suppressed the urge to cringe, and smiled a little too broadly. "Baron Torsten Ingvarsen, dear lady," slurred the sloshed youngster. He was barely a few years older than Lisbeth, but the cracks in his features were a clear mark of a life lead too-comfortably, with all forms of sensual gratification available at a moment's notice. 

Lisbeth coughed politely, clearing her throat with a hand across her chest as the baron came closer still, and Lisbeth took a polite step, small enough to be mistaken for a gentle chance of stance, away from the baron's clammy skin, and then another, before she found herself backed against one of the filigreed walls of the great hall, hidden by the shadow from a statue to her left. "I've always admired your sort, sister," said Torsten, "selfless servants. I wish all those in my employ were so dedicated to their role. Many resent the fate the Emperor has ordained for them." A sweaty hand landed on Lisbeth's shoulder, and a chill ran down her spine. "Perhaps, later, we can retire to my chamber to discuss-" 

Lisbeth did not allow him to finish the sentence. She was not a fool. She knew exactly how it ended, and though she kept her mind clear of such impure thoughts, she was aware of the sins that others indulged in. Lisbeth was all too happy to help this lost soul mend his ways, starting with a vice-like grip around his loins, squeezing down hard. Strangely, Baron Ingvarsen became quiet, and his eyes wide. "I am a daughter of the God-Emperor, and I am [i]not[/i] your whore. I have slain witches, aliens, heretics, and creatures [i]you[/i] wouldn't be able to imagine in your worst nightmares. You get any closer and I will tear it off, and even Sister Alexandra will not be able to repair you." For a few moments the two were still, with Lisbeth's eyes locked with Ingvarsen's, tears welling. 
"You - impudent-" Another sentence Lisbeth would never hear the end of. As Ingvarsen raised a hand, Lisbeth clenched her fist tighter and yanked down, drawing a squeak from the baron, who promptly collapsed in a drunken heap, whimpering. 
"I trust you will see milord Confessor before we leave, baron. Enjoy your evening," said Lisbeth, satisfied that she had done her duty for the night, and made her way back to her quarters with a carefully concealed smug grin.

Lisbeth wasted no time in taking off the ridiculous costume she'd been ordered to wear, and was glad to be back inside her robes after a swift wash, but found herself unable to sleep. After trying most of an hour in prayer, she conceded and decided to at least use her time usefully, preparing for tomorrow's labours. With her arms and armour under lock and key, her only option was to try and learn more about the planet - and, inevitably, the miracles. A servitor, standing sentinel over the libraries, was only half-helpful, and it took Lisbeth another hour to find the records she sought - the few witness statements from the rural communities the girl had travelled in. At the start, she was professional, but quickly the adoration in the records drew her in, and Lisbeth was utterly sure that this was a true Living Saint. Her mind raced with possibilities, of lost friends who might be returned - and of His restoration. If this girl could be brought to Holy Terra, the God-Emperor's internment in the Golden Throne might finally come to an end, and all the strife and misery Man endured could be brought to a close. 

She slept well after that, her dreams filled with hopeful thoughts and the dream of a perfect Imperium, free from heresy, mutation, and the baleful influence of the alien. All this could come to pass, dreamed Lisbeth, if only she did her part. She rose before dawn, and was ready and eager for the day's work when the group assembled in the hall. She was practically giddy, and she could not resist a warm smile as she acknowledged the arrival of her fellows with a nod. "Is-is it time to go?" asked Lisbeth, with the demeanour of an excited child.