I merely grin at her comment as I slowly inch closer; eventually, I feel the ground beneath me begin to slope upwards towards the bank. I lift myself some inches there, rising to a more comfortable position closer to her. Here, at least, I can be quick to exit this abyss of sludge. I do not feel that she is a threat, however. Though her body might indicate some kind of tension, I gauge predominantly a certain kind of curiosity. We are equal on that front. Besides, I have no doubt I could dispatch her if required. For now, though, I am content to exist in this pool and back-and-forth. She even manages to receive a garnished grin from me as she questions me: angel or demon?

"Can we only ever be one... of those two options?"

I raise a brow. I am expectant. I shift once more closer to the shore, freeing more of myself from the depths of stink and darkness. It clings to my fur still, however, in the most unflattering of ways. I suppose I look like quite a paradox at this point: did Angels not consistently remind others of their obsessive grooming habits? Here I am as pale as any angel but coated in the very primordial soup that spews out demons.

"Who do you suppose ate the wings off the angels? They never tell that story."

My head tilts but soon enough, I am more fascinated by who rather than what. I have always known the angels to be liars, after all.

"Why have you not called for any others?"