Her tattered wings provide a bit of protection and comfort. They may be tattered, bloody, and wretched remains of the once magestic and mighty Angel wings. They may no longer carry her across The Kingdom but they still give if an all be it false sence of security. In her head she keeps repeating "Why am I here? I never wanted this why me?!" With a grasp that is so tight it hurts her hand upon her sword the one thing keeping these Deamons from ripping the skin from her bones on the spot, she dares not drop it. The look in the eyes of both these creatures says it all. In the back of her mind she can almost hear their voices cold and bearly a whisper. "We will feast on you heart before this night ends little Angel..." Their voices repeat. Only though sheer force of will is she standing her ground, her heart is racing, shes fighting tears, Her stomach is twisted up in knots shes also fighting the urge to throw up. Now the question is who is the first to make a move and ultimately who will make the first fatal mistake?