“You've a fair point.” Alcuin conceded with a wry quirk of his lips. It was as easy for him to forget that he spoke to an angel as it was difficult for him to imagine the angel as a slave, even with the collar about his neck to remind him. Generally speaking, slaves couldn't simply fly away whenever they wished; leaping from their prison hardly constituted flying, after all, though he knew for a fact that many a slave had perished in the attempt. “By my reckoning though, you'll either be waiting for a very long time, or no time at all.”
Either way, the dichotomy he found himself being presented with was an unsettling one. An angel with more power and knowledge than he could have ever imagined in his wildest dreams willingly – and it would have to have been willingly – submitting to another was...
“Sometimes it does.” He murmured gravely and shifted unconsciously to lean toward the window. There wasn't a single drop of blood between himself and the people he considered to be his family but nearly all of it had been spilled nonetheless. “I ought not,” whether he meant speaking of his past, or leaving the estate was unclear. “but you don't strike me as the type to offer lightly. Why so curious? I am no one.”