The fire burning within, as if a Molotov cocktail burned her soul.  Desire so focussed on her intent, to stand alone or with the security and camaraderie of a crowd, demanding to be heard.

Was she rich, or famous? Did she wear the latest fashions? Did she speak the language of the politicians?

No, but she was clear in her mind that she would stand and fight until the fight was won, or she had uttered her last breath.

The fight was not for the rich, but for the forgotten, for those without power. For those who needed a voice.