The realm of the demons was not as chaotic than one might have been thought, there were strict rules and regulations that needed to be followed, and Claribel was a victim of this. She had been a good little demon up until one man had somehow stirred some feeling into her, other than hate and pride. She had taken pity on a target she had been assigned to, and had paid the ultimate price for it. Demons were not known for their lenient punishments. Claribel had been thrown into the jaws of immortality on earth, a place where loneliness would soon take any chance of happiness from her. The ebony haired girl had been on earth for hundreds of years now, and although she had fallen in with various bands of thieves and the odd psychopathic murderer, she had always been left by the wayside, either as they soon realised she was not as they were, or else when they inevitably died. For most demons that wouldn't have mattered, but for Claribel - who was certainly different - it hurt. She was alone, and reckoned she always would be. In the twenty-first century, Claribel had found a niche for herself, mainly just stealing what she needed to survive, and living rough. It was difficult to integrate into groups of rogues - they just didn't exist anymore - and so she flitted on the edges of society, living in utter solitude, apart from when she went out drinking, the one solace she had now. It was one night where the seemingly young woman stalked into a random bar, her black locks falling loosely to the small of her back, contrasting against pale skin. Ice blue eyes scanned the room, though she soon settled down for a beer, swigging it as cooly as any man. She was slightly uneasy, as she always was when in crowded spaces, but hopefully that would ease off.