To Flow From

Muriel had spent the morning helping a young woman get in touch with her anger. It had been a painful process but it would be better for her in the long run. Now Muriel was upstairs at Emanare, wings flared, hair disheveled and with slight flush on her pale cheeks.

"Water, please," she said as she approached the bar.

Jophiel leaned against a wall in the basement, drink perched on an outcrop. It had been far too long since he last visited. The humidity from the bath made his wings feel heavy. Dressed in a grey robe, wings flared slightly, he'd decided to forgo pretense and illusion for the day.

At the moment, his attention was drawn to a small patch of brick work inlaid in the floor. He studied the delicate grapevine pattern. He sighed happily, gesturing to the person beside him, "Beautiful isn't it?"