Diana only hummed noncommittally at Envy's unhelpful answer, continuing to wipe blood from the Sin's hand. The ease with which it wiped clean, the smooth skin starting to emerge from beneath the muck and gore, struck her as out-of-place here, with Sins and heathens and devourers of hearts.
A new god, an old god, and a Christian walk into a bar. Rocks fall, everyone dies.
Paparazzi smiled at her own inward joke, canting her head into Envy's gentle tug of her hair, trying not to think about blood staining her blond locks. "I know," she replied.
"I guess it's almost what you've been doing. Losing control, gaining it back. Getting uncomfortably close to relations."