She rides faster than the wind and rain. She is surging daemonflesh, mighty sinews of hell and the thundering heartbeat of a demon's idea of a horse. She is strength and power and movement and the dark of night and she is chasing after something she craves more than anything.

Once she'd sold her soul to live this wish.

She'd wished to desire. A mistake. She should have wished for someone to desire.

She surges the horse ahead, pulling the demon steed to a halt in between the temple and her quarry. She might seem almost a hero in that moment, a figure from a dream, were you to imagine her umbrella as more than paper and wood, her skill more than trivial. In every other way - in her hair, unbound by the wind, long and wet and tangled, in her stance, in her diamond hard eyes, she must seem a mighty champion indeed.

[Overcome: [b]11[/b]]