Allan staggered under the imagery that came long with the blood.  He stopped feeding and healed the marks when he could hear her heart slow, when he could feel the life, the amazing, ancient life, beginning to ebb.  He stopped and staggered back, almost tripping over the demon before he got his footing again.  The elf, Felicia, could survive, if she got help soon, but right now she was hovering, on the brink, still conscious but weak.  She would have been helpless even if she hadn't been chained.<br/><br/>"F-fascinating," he stammered.  "Such a long life, such history... dreams, passion... and it would all have ended, on this filthy basement floor..." He glanced down, saw something, and picked it up.  It was an ear, with a delicate point.  "So damaged, already... even if you went back, you'd never be accepted now.  Imperfect among the Perfect Ones, an impossibility: a disfigured elf.  That can never be, can it?  Oberon and Titania wouldn't allow it."<br/><br/>He sighed, the elven blood making him feel strange, almost drunk and oddly melancholy.  Normally he didn't succumb to the ennui of years, but with two huge lifetimes staining his memories, it was hard to avoid it.  He turned instead to distraction, glancing over at the half-blind, mangled-handed angel chained nearby.  "And what of you?  Celestial servant, trapped here, trapped by your mortal form, and ruined, now, crippled... what of you, Angel?"