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Her whole body hurt; the pain wracking through her. The creamy flesh of her body smoldered and smoked under the dampness of the rain where her tattered rags for clothing did not cover; which was pretty much everywhere. Her long, flame red hair clung to her neck and face in wet clumps and slowly she stood against the pounding rain. Already her instincts were starting to take over and her shattered memory was coming back to her in bits and pieces.

“You’re being sent to St. Agatha’s to corrupt a traveling bishop and his entourage. In the process of doing so, you must make five of the Nuns soul violate their promises to God. Do not return until you have,” she heard the booming voice of the Master in her mind. "This is the last of your quests, after this you will have earned your wings."

Her eyes started to focus a little more clearly and she saw a road in the primeval woods she was in. The tattered, dirty rags she was wearing were a far cry from the silks, leathers, and furs she had become accustomed to. Off in the distance on a far away mountain top, she saw the lights of a village, and above that, lights that she recognized as coming from St. Agatha’s.

“Long way,” Angelina heard herself saying. The voice she recognized as her own, but it lacked the demonic resonance she was used to hearing with it. Instead, it had an innocent quality to it, an almost angelic bubbling. She laughed over the dirty irony and started off down the road to St. Agatha’s. Already she could feel the stirring in her loins, the heating of her passion as she felt the cool night rain slide down her body, soaking every inch of her skin. The cool water turned her on, making her skin feel alive under the caress of her wet lover, and she fought the urge to strip the rags from her body and let her lover explore her body without hindrance.

“Do that, girl, and you won’t make it to St. Agatha’s,” she chided herself. It wasn’t many more paces after that and she heard a carriage thundering down the road in the mud, and a few seconds after that, she saw the lights from the carriage. Who ever it belonged to, they must have been rich; it was lavishly decorated and the driver had a canopy over his head.

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