The punch dagger lay on her desk as she stares at it. The blade of the katar has been meticulously cleaned many, many times yet it still bears the blood of her husband, and it just will not be scrubbed off.

Maybe that is the reason she has never practiced with it; the memory of how it punctured the torso of her husband, the years of abuse finally being repaid in torrents of blood and ecstasy. She felt vindicated. She felt free.

Then, she was caught and Embraced by her husband's associate, and the rest is history. She is a Demon now and must act as such.

Sabri grips the katar firmly in her right hand and slowly practices one of the many techniques she has learnt bare-handed, applying them to the deadly caress of the very item that brought the end of her tragedy.