He replies quickly and tightly, his eyes closing in concentration. "Myself." His shoulders hunch forward and behind him a few long pinion feathers fall from his wings, their ends covered in blood. The structure of his wings seems to be more and more realistic as time moves on, more bird-like.

He takes a few deep breaths and keeps his hand on hers as he tries to use her help. Any hint about her own distress is lost in the sea of his own strain. He's afraid that he may be starting to panic. "The vessel is human. My Grace is usually...usually I can keep it locked up inside. If I burn out, people will be hurt." That, and he'll probably die himself, given that he's stuck in a parallel dimension with no way back to Heaven. For a moment, he focuses on the possibility that he could lose everything and hurt people in the process.

A deep pang of grief overtakes him for a moment and Michael laughs in the distance, still not moving. He clenches his eyes tightly together and takes another deep breath, focusing on his containment once more.