Too much. Too fast. Too sharp. Motion and muscle everywhere she looked and she was no part of it. This was chaos but it had stopped being her chaos. This was deception but she was losing her way out of it. She risked vanishing into the role, becoming so stunned and still in the crush of emotion that she really did become a humble scribe. Helpless and without ambition.

That was the one change she could never quite manage though. The more control slipped away from her the more focused she got. When she'd felt like she could never influence the scions of the Dominion, never draw their eyes, it had made her cold and sharp. It had given her the strength to study and bind demons. She felt the same now; this was slipping from her grip and it woke her. Woke the hunger in her. This was a battle of strength and she was not strong enough to compete. 

From her sleeve, a fan. She snaps it open and upon its surface is the cascading symbol of summoning and binding. She lingers for a moment, though, eyes flicking through every combat and every front and considering what exactly her wish will be.

You see this, Giriel. You see her on the brink of forbidden sorcery once again. You've drawn her eye and distracted her enough that you have a chance to react before she commits.