Tired and bruised, she leaves the fencing studio with the satisfaction of being enlightened through repeated practice. "Much the same as magic" - she thinks - "When my father could not teach me any more of the occult, I was fortunate to find his hidden mentor. When I was about to quit this studio and the lessons of an inferior teacher, my good luck provides me with an outstanding gentlemen to take his place. It seems I am destined to always get what I want."
Stepping forth with arrogance and pride, she takes a stroll towards her car, oblivious to the dangers of nightly London. Soon she would come home to rest. She would have a light dinner with her newly-wedded husband and put him to bed with a stupid smile on his face. Sex was both a precious treasure and a sacred tool - and it was a shame to waste it on such an idiot - but money makes the world go round and her family could not afford to stand still.
She was used to sacrifice and subterfuge. In the deep hours of the night, after a few breaths of sleep, she would step outside her new mansion in the suburbs and find her way to the old sanctuary. She would stand alone in that room and practice the words and the rituals. Enlightement would come through repeated practice.
With her feet touching the ground, she would walk the circle and whisper the sacred names. With her arms outstretched, she would bow to the summoning of power and she would wait for her master and her father. In ecstasy, she would lay upon the altar and embrace her higher purpose, to become a living instrument of magic, a golden cup of bliss and revelation. In the deepest hours of the night, they would held her, take her, they would put themselves through her, against her, they would see her scream and dance and bleed and sleep, ever and ever again.
She puts her arms around her and trembles in antecipation.
"The scarlet woman is a living jewel of magic among the dark wastelands of the world." - she tells herself with a smile.
"Is that why I feel so cold?"