SLAM. The black wooden door flew open, banging noisily against coarse stone. She flew through the entryway like a tempest, heaving the jar of scale polish in her right hand at the wall. A duo of empty liqueur bottles stationed on her table was knocked aside as she passed, her splayed palm shattering them before they reached the ground. Cursing at the broken glass on the floor and oily splatters on her bed, she thrust herself down upon the cedar chest at the foot of it. Too many emotions were running through her mind, one extreme to the next. The image of the tortured body burned a morbid image in her mind. She was spent.

The last time I had to make a choice like this, she thought to herself, I fell in way over my head.

"I don?t know if I can do it again," she uttered softly.

After a brief pause, she bolted upward. With every bit of fury as she had arrived with, she stalked towards the door. Another jarring SLAM followed as she walked determinedly toward the Temple, incessantly shuffling the events of the evening in her head.