She was affected by the splintering bone, and it made it taste better to him. Such specific sensibilities she had. He supposed he'd be the same, if in some worlds they ate things that resembled his arms or his legs. It was a transferable perspective and he would have to remember to ask her about it later. Usually even the most stoic creatures have sentimentalities about their own compared to others. It underlined how the universe could not be fair.<br/><br/>She was looking at him too, and he thought that was strange. A tinge of insult lived around the low of his chest. But she was right in her weary. He was changed, even if he'd like to say he was only amplified. Roan should learn to take pride in it then, and call it evolution through truth. Perhaps he'd been denied this new person by her lies. He liked that much more than the hypocrisy of being revealed as some villain after having done villainy.<br/><br/>He was so engrossed in the details that she gave him. This human woman who could shut her own wounds if he stabbed her, laying down the anatomy of the hierarchy of angels. There was no democracy in heaven. He wondered what the men on earth would like to do with that. What a visual. Light halls and bright ceilings, but there were still enough shadows to drown out the faces of those that governed the rest. He was filthy for wanting to see it, and worse for desiring its downfall. She did not seem fond of it herself.<br/><br/>He gasped in delight when her hands vibrated the glass to make unrest on the water until she could have some with the beak of her upper lip. It was like flaunting a limp animal infront of one with fangs. He licked chickenfat from the corner of his mouth but tried to stay focused on her story, instead. Things that are immortal don't go bad, so he had as much time as he had life. What a gloriously empty world, then, that she unfolded for him.<br/><br/>"So there is no need for worship?" he asked as he had some of the vegetables and leaned back. He wiped himself clean and took another drink from his glass. His hand was infinitely steady, because he was not in any kind of distress. "What use does heaven have for our prayers? Are there still miracles, Iris? Or were they just miscommunications between some ancient man's eye and his brain?" he laughed into the air and then leaned closer, slamming his palm on the table.<br/><br/>"What will happen if Heaven is brought down?" he pressed, expectant eyes on his new oracle. There must be a way for it all to come undone if there was need for order. Set that paradise of strict rules on fire. What connection did it have to life on earth? He wanted it, somewhere in him, their demise, for having sliced and electrified his brain. And he wanted to see it, too. She was Fallen, he was sure they'd give her the key back as soon as they'd invite him, but it was in his nature to want perfect things ruined. He had choked her for passion and wrath before he knew she'd live, and then broken and drowned her after that. He had no right to pretend he was something else.<br/><br/>"Would you go back if you could?"