There were times, Hadriana mused, when inviting a demon to take up residence in your soul may have been a mistake. It wasn't that she regretted, really; the demon's power would assure her place among the other magisters, after all, but in times like this, when the elf was laying near unconsious on her table, when she quietly washed the blood from her hands, that she marvelled at the extent of the demon's cruelty as she, almost lovingly, stroked the elf's face. That was not to say Hadriana was not cruel-there were few lengths she was unwilling to go to in order to achieve her goals (feast upon the blood, upon the screams and pain), but there were times when she was unsure if she were acting of her own will, or if the demon had finally achieved the foothold it so craved in her mind (blood, blood, and more blood; they deserve their fate-though why that was she didn't know). In the end, she supposed, it didn't really matter; guilt or no, what was done was done, and she would have her rightful place.