Blinking mildly, almost sleepily, at the retreating human, White rose to his feet--a small, slender boy that looked no older than a teenager--the crown nearly tumbling off his lap before he managed to catch it in one hand. "I'm not people," he admitted with a delicate, elegant shrug, still looking a little shy and definitely uncertain about this talking-to-a-human-all-by-himself thing. "I'm an idea." He indicated himself with a gesture, smile turning bright. "I'm Pollution," he added in a cheerful chirp, "one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Call me White, though." Even though the Apocalypse hadn't happened, he was still very proud of his work, and damnit-- if he was going to be alone in a strange city on a strange planet, he was going to keep working and he was going to do it well.
A pause, and he took a step down the stairs, reaching up to tuck his hair away from his face, expression turning curious and a little hopeful. "You're human, right? You're not the Antichrist.." A hesitant pause, and he hung back, leaving her the room she so obviously wanted. "How did you do that? Are you a witch?" Witches sometimes did things like that. She obviously wasn't a demon or an angel..