"Don't go!" she said quickly, panicky, fearful. "Stay!"
Michael headed to Clio's bathroom where she had a first aid kit. He knew he wasn't going to be able to heal her entirely - he never could. And he was likely going to have to dress a wound for her. He knew exactly where her first aid kit was as well, which spoke to how often he had done this in this house.
Michael emerged, and he went to kneel in front of the sofa. "In your own time," Michael said, his voice soothing.
Clio nodded, and she leaned back a little so she stretch her legs out, dropping the left one to the ground so her right thigh could be seen. Then she pulled up her dress, revealing the horrific burn mark making it's way from her mid thigh all the way up to where her leg met her hip. It was hand-shaped in some places, the flesh burned black in others.
"Oh, Clio-" Michael hissed, an uncharacteristic show of emotion for the angel. Michael loved very few people as much as he loved Clio. Gently, he rested his hand on her knee, and he bowed his head. As he did so, great white wings unfurled from his back, the sofa protected from the outside world, bathed in healing light.