Samandriel tipped his face up to look at the vampire. "A blank canvas," he finally settled on, and then added, "a memory. Was there a pretty little Athenian boy you conquered so long ago, I wonder? Or perhaps a slave stolen from further north where they have fair hair and clear eyes." He stepped closer to Carrick, well aware he was playing with fire and really not caring.
He was damned in this man's presence no matter what he did.
"Either way. You look at me and see a ghost. Maybe of the boy you never had. Maybe of the boy you never were. One day, perhaps, you might look at me and see me." One day would be sooner than that. It would be the moment he got his wings back and spread them in all the holy righteousness and power that was due him.