Yves slowly nodded, if he had to guess he would figure that maybe the feather would have had something to do with it, though Necrosis held a variety of items on his person that each seemed to carry significant sentimental value to him.
His heart sank at Necrosis's words. The last angel. Yves couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to be the last of your kind, he knew that there would come a time when Azrael would be the last of them remaining, it was his cross to bear, being the Archangel of Death. Even if that time came eons from now, it was still unimaginable. "I'm sorry," Yves said gently, meaning it. He understood the other angel's pain, though he knew it stemmed from something deeper, something that he still didn't quite comprehend.
He looked at the movement of the other angel's thumb, listening carefully to his story. He could almost see it in his mind's eye, could almost feel the pain coming from Necrosis. As Necrosis was not from his world, he couldn't truly pen his story without the other angel's permission, and it wasn't something he was likely to do anyway, as a story was a life and a life was the most personal thing that one possessed.
"It's okay," Yves smiled softly, his gentle timbre reassuring. "I don't mind at all, you can tell me whatever you want, at your own pace. You don't have to carry the burden alone." Yves had questions, questions that seemed to multiply as he thought further, but he didn't want to press too hard, only wanted to comfort and listen, to be there, a supportive anchor that was grounding Necrosis and keeping him from falling to pieces.