(*Ah yes, young miss Kioto. A perfect picture of what is wrong with the world. Just look at the way she moves, as if marching to the rhythm of some terrible drummer. Oh, how the light dances off her alabaster skin in a ballet all of its own. The liquid onyx strands of hair fell like a waterfall down her face, spilling out like dozens of spears near the edge of her chin. Her face was disciplined and scared, wearing well the face of a warrior. The creature’s eyes were sunken into its skull. It appears as if she were staring from behind the shroud of death itself. Her button nose shadowed her tightly drawn lips, which only foreshadowed her elongated canines, which purse every now and then to allow her tongue to slip out for a taste. Her head twists and turns a bit. As her head pivots in its socket, the sounds of popping and crackling echo, while she scans her near 360 degree range of vision. Her shoulders bobbed a bit as her arms swung from beneath. Her torso was tight and muscular, keeping her frame boxed and well compact. Her arms were slender and long and lead to two hands each bearing long skeletal fingers. The skin had hardened and cracked around the tips, holding within them concise instruments of inflicting bodily injury. The talons gleamed a bit in the light as her hands came to rest on her hips which hypnotically swayed like a pendulum through the hall. Her hand came to pass over the top of her chair as she spun a bit around it, once again circling the temple with her gaze. Then taking the liberty to look up at the ceiling before her hands begin to rise to pull her hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. She lowers her head again her hair secured for the moment. She cracks a smile and looks around, her hands coming to rest behind her head.*)