Bedraggled as they are, she's a little sad to see the wings go. He does look a lot more unassuming, now, aside from his shadows, which are still glowing, giving the impression that he's being lit from all sides. She can't - won't - read them. It would feel unspeakably rude to even try. His expression is still pretty telling, though, and she has to bite back a sort of horrified smile at the thought that she might have hurt the almighty sword-wielding angel's feelings.

She sobers as he takes her hand again. Are all angels this... tactile? She's not complaining (yeah, right, like never mind that he saved her from a master vampire and got her out of that godsawful kali nightmare of a room, she just can't get over the fact that he's being sort of handsy), it's just… she still isn't sure she should be the, uh… object… of such… consideration. When he asks if she's really okay, it's her turn to blush.

"Yes," she says after a considering pause. "He was an… old enemy." She gives his hand a little squeeze - why the hell not - and adds, "It's much better in here. The sunlight is… helpful."