Zira took in a breath. He slowly moved forward in his seat, allowing himself some room to move. He took care to dull the response of the people around, and gently let his wings unfurl from under his shirt.
"Where I am from, I am an angel." His wing span was just over 6 feet across, the wings an iridescent white, though haphazardly groomed. One common misconception was that demons tended to groom their wings far more than angels. Zira himself would rather read a book, than bother with grooming.
It wasn't a contest, for him. He respected her story, and felt the heartbreak of it. He didn't pity her, he could tell she wouldn't appreciate that. He simply accepted it, and understood her better, for it.