Samandriel finally took a drink from his glass. "When I have my wings back," he said softly, "if you have want of them..." The young angel looked up with a kind of darkness and conviction that made it plain how related he and Natasha were. "I intend to keep my collar, but that might make me even more useful to your cause."
Another sip of his drink. "We don't talk about the Fall," he said quietly. "Talking about the Fall can be taken as...regretting the Fall, as mourning the loss of those we perhaps should not, that in mourning our brothers somehow excuses what happens as though forgiveness is not what we should strive for."