"Oh..." Lifted her startled voice from within.

The angel was alone, as she often was from time to time. Alone and content with it. There were other times of course when the winged woman was surrounded by all manner and make of fierce looking creature; from ogre to drow, from demon to black bayou witch; Laoell was not without her champions. Each one was more ruthless than the last, and sharp with their skills where she was soft. But there was no champion with her now, no sword or shield to keep away the blows. She rose without fear though, despite her vulnerability, confident in her safety as anyone might be in the familiarity in their home.

She'd been weaving grape vines into wreaths; more goods for wholesale at the florist's shoppe in the marketplace. Her hands were a bit pink from all the work of twisting and bending, and her skin smelt faintly of new, raw, green life.

The raven haired beauty was not a fighter, but a healer and a weaver arts far more delicate than the rigors of bloodshed and war. In His holdings, she was a harold for those lost in the darkness; a shepherd come to clean the hooves of the soiled and guide the them back to the sanctity of the flock. Now, outside his holdings, her shepherd's cane was very much broken. She still had the power to tap, but it's performance was holed at best. Something had been lost in the fall, but such a thing was only expected. One could not defy their maker without expecting consequence of some kind. But these thoughts were not the thoughts that bounced through the angel's head as she padded quietly towards the door. No. The thoughts that bounced through the angel's head were of her companion; her red eyed knight with his sword of fire and his shield of sulfur forged from the depth's of hell. Her unlikely Lazarus.

The presence behind the door was akin to his, which was what quickened her step. But when Laoell realized it was not the same, that her heart wasn't pounding anew and her soul didn't feel that familiar call of like to like, that was when those quick steps slowed to a halt. Who was there? How had they found their way through the forest? It was not likely a malevolent creature had come seeking her and won the battle it'd take to force through Vilrath's wards, was it? No, it hadn't been before. Throx came through only because he sought nothing but friendship and good company, just as Desaid did, just as anyone did.

It was with this knowledge locked firmly in the back of her brain that the angel rustled up the courage to cross those last few steps to the door and pop open the little eyehole that Lazarus had been so kind as to construct and fashion for her in the old wooden door. That was how she saw the demon in his finely pressed suit, and that was how he'd see her one large, impossibly black, black eye. If one compared it's pupil to a well in the night, then the ring about it was most certainly the shadowed rim.

Look too deeply in those ink-dark eyes, and one might never come back; look at the surface, and you'd surely see your very soul reflected back at you.

"Good afternoon and pardon my sluggish step, sir, I wasn't expecting company this afternoon... At least not for another quarter or half hour." Though her answer was in a careful set of words and an equally careful tone, it was clear from the shine in her eye and the inflection in her voice that Laoell hadn't been expecting guests at all. Her trust was tentative now, and rightfully so; Laoell had since seen one of the big bad wolves of the world, and ever since, she'd exercised a touch more caution.

"A message?" Laoell echoed him slowly, curiosity dripping with every letter as she kept her feet firmly in the doorway. She refused to budge, because there was just something about the man that shouldn't be trusted. One didn't need otherworldly origins to deduce that.

He was too rigid, too stickish, too polite and gleaming around all the wrong edges. The angel knew his kind, but she also knew there would be certain protocol observed... At least she hoped their would be. It was one of those rare moments that Laoell mourned how utterly powerless she was, granted, there was a blade around the curve of the doorframe, but those were there on the insistence of others; she'd never be able to wield them, and certainly never in time. Despite the inner turmoil, she managed to keep her expression neutral, and her hand on the open door from shaking.

"May I ask what sort of messenger comes without first announcing whom their delivery is for?" Timid little thing she could be, yes, but sharp. She met those red, red glasses without fear, startled for a moment by the frailty of her reflection she saw in them. Her gaze didn't linger there, however; it shifted to the motion between his hand and the gentle pull back of his coat.

She stiffened visibly at his reply, simply because of the source of the message. Laoell always knew that there would be repercussions from doing what she did, and Lazarus what he did, but... This was not the approach she expected, nor that it would come to her, from His first fallen child.

Much was unknown about what happened then, but it was always told that He of course was blameless, that the fault was nothing but Lucifer's own... But like all stories, Laoell had found that there is always more than one way it can be told; it was one of the lesser reasons for her shaken faith; just another one of the many crumbling bricks beneath an already cracked wall.

"O-oh?" Yes, quite the clever return, wasn't it? But what else could one say when an emissary from the world below came with a message from their one lord and master? Not much, but she, like he, decided to give her throat a soft clearing. The nervous set to her shoulders had since relaxed, if only a slight bit.

"What would that message be?" She asked the obvious, of course, for a lack of anything else.

Knowing and seeing were two very different things.

While Laoell was well aware of what being a demon meant, oh yes. She was one of the few unfortunates that were old enough to remember the first battle. She was young though; a new creation, as it were; she'd not yet chosen her path in the choirs. The heavenly father did not have bugles, he had his angels. So instead of standing with his faithful that catered to fiery swords and divine shields, Laoell was one of two chosen to be His battle clarions.

It was after that day and night of unholy carnage, when the clouds rained blood and the levels of hell pooled with the crimson runoff, that the dark haired angel chose her place among her winged brethren, as one of the Seraphim.

The man in his suit with those too-long fingers and the evil in his touch brought back quite a load of unwanted memories along with those visions of Lazarus playing puzzle games with a man's flesh and bone.

As his hand withdrew Laoell flinched, and her already pale, pale skin had all but turned to icy chalk. The pupils in her eyes were unusually dilated, and it took the demon's bow to bring them back again. It wasn't exactly his bowing, you see, but the sunlight that filtered in past him when his body had dipped out of the way; it was bright. Bright enough to rip her out of the hellish landscapes that'd been painted in her mind, and back to the sunlit doorway with her unexpected visitor.

"Get out... G-go. Go away!" Laoell's voice started softly, but quickly gained in volume and alarm. She moved to shut the door, both hands flat and pressing hard against the wood as her feet pressed to the cool, stony floor.

Their appearance in frailty was equal, but their strength was not. Laoell all but quivered on the other side of the door as she felt his weight leave and let the wood snap closed tight against it's stony frame. She turned, feeling the tight fold of her wings press against the grain, seeking a haven their in the reality of touching something solid and whole and unmovable.

'...I will return soon.' Those particular words played over again in her mind as she reached up with a shaking hand to turn the bolt in place on the door. It was a meaningless bit of security, but the routine helped further ground her otherwise rampant thoughts.

What did he mean to do when he returned, was there something they expected her to do? And if so, what?

The shaking floor distracted her though, and for a moment, Laoell was on alarm, thinking the demon hadn't disappeared and had only waited for her back to turn before he started making the house crumble on her or something of the like... But it was her own body shaking, her eyes just couldn't register that. Feeling foolish twice over, the angel wrapped her arms tightly around her chest as she slid down the length of the door until she reached the floor. Leaning back, she let her hair swallow her face up, taking comfort in the warmth and the softness.

Her forehead itched though, like there was a flake of something there that needed scratching. That little matter didn't help her at all, and without warning, a play back of Lazarus in all that armor... All that blood. It swarmed up on her to the point she had to close her eyes, least the shapes of light between the down spill of her hair took on more unwanted things.

"It's a test... It has to be." She murmured aloud, quietly, tentatively; seeing if the words tasted logical or not. Either way, the angel didn't move for some time, she sat there on the floor against the locked door simply thinking. She watched without seeing, her eyes reflecting all those shapes on the walls from the shadows that sunset cast through her windows.