"What's going on? Where did that come from?"

Sofiel flashes a wan smile at Abigail's tentative approach, watching as the mortal pads into the room with light, hesitant steps. She pats at the spot beside her on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets. "Come here," she beckons.

"You're not going to slice me in half with that, are you? It looks pretty darn sharp."

Despite eyeing the glinting blade on Sofiel's lap warily, Abigail obliges her request. The mattress dips and creaks with Abigail's added weight as Sofiel scoots to make room for her on the bed.

"This," Sofiel raises the blade in her lap carefully, "is a symbol of my angelic powers. Or what's left of it."

Gingerly, she runs a finger down the flat end of the blade, watching it glimmer dimly under the light with a sad, almost wistful smile.

"It's made out of pure celestial silver, blessed and gifted by my Father. The Almighty, Himself. Every angel of the Silver City has one. A symbol, that is. It's said to be a reflection of one's self."

At first glance, Sofiel's symbol looks like any ordinary silver sword. A simple guard and a wire-bound hilt. It tapers off into a short, thin blade that's only a hint longer than a dagger. Plain, without any superficial embellishments.

A sword like no other. That is, if she can even call it a sword at that length for that matter.

(Neither sword nor dagger, how suitably apt.)

But a closer inspection would see the faintest hint of a glow. It barely outlines the blade's sleek form, as if drawing in on the natural light of the room to help surround itself in its ethereality. There was once a time where her symbol had used to shine brighter than the sun. So bright, it could ward off all darkness within the space it occupied, blinding anyone within its vicinity. There was no need for it to draw upon anything to shine. For it was the very embodiment of Light, itself.

But now, it shines no more.

"It's beautiful," Abigail breathes, her voice a quiet awe that takes Sofiel aback, throwing her off-kilter for a moment.

She looks to Abigail briefly, trying to take the measure of her but all she sees is guileless wonder sparkling through those blue depths as they pore over the sword in her lap. Unable to help herself, Sofiel throws her head back with a short, amused laugh.

Of course.

Trust Abigail to find beauty in the most broken of things.

In the time since her second fall, Sofiel smiles her first genuine smile.

"I want to entrust you with it."

Abigail starts, blinking furiously between the ethereal blade that has just been gently eased into her hands and the smiling angel beside her, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Sofiel, I..." She shakes her head and tries to urge the blade back into Sofiel's hands. But her progress is halted by Sofiel's feeble yet insistent force against her wrist.

Immediately, Sofiel sees the protest on her face; hears it in her hitched breath, words poised and ready for launch.

"There will be a time where I won't be able to wield this anymore," Sofiel interjects smoothly, her smile turning a tad rueful as she glances over at her symbol with a gaze tinged in the grey hues of regret. "Even now, it's trying to reject me."

Steeling herself with a breath, Sofiel's gaze hardens with a burning conviction. She squeezes down on Abigail's wrist. As a means to anchor herself, lest she loses her nerve at the very last second. She swallows back on the well of emotion that is steadily building at the back of her throat and stares Abigail dead in the eye.

"I want you to stop me with it."

Abigail frowns, looking more pained than ever. Her brows pulled tight and her lips pursed thinly. She looks like she's just been punched in the gut.

"Sofiel..." Abigail hangs her head with a harrowed sigh.

"Noah— was it? He was right when he said that I'm not going to be an easy demon to dispatch when I descend. There's a high chance that I will lose my mind and forget about..." You. "Everything."

"I know," Abigail says quietly, her voice cracking as her head dips lower.

"Blessed celestial silver is far more effective than just the normal silver you have. The least I can do is make this whole process easier for you." Slipping lower to curl her fingers over Abigail's limp grip on her symbol, Sofiel bears down on her softly — meaningfully. "So please, take it. And don't, for sentimentality's sake, hold back when the time comes."

Inwardly, Sofiel knows. Her giving her symbol away is nothing more than an act of cowardice under the sheer guise of courage. But can anyone blame her from wanting to turn away from her repugnant reflection — or the reminder of the abomination that she's slowly turning into?

She can only hope that Abigail would indulge her.

At least, just this once.

With a tremulous breath, Abigail whispers brokenly, "Okay."

The fingers she has over the hilt of Sofiel's dimly glowing blade are trembling as she clutches at it so tight, her knuckles are blanched white. When she finally musters a glance up at Sofiel, it's with a watery smile that matches Sofiel's own. "I won't."

Peering down into Abigail's dewy eyes, all Sofiel can think of is how lucky she had been to have chanced upon her the way she did. In the time she spent down in the mortal realm, Abigail had literally been the only good thing about this rotten place. From her sunny smiles to her affable and ever so trusting disposition.

And now, she is the only thing — only person — that Sofiel has left.

(The only thing that's keeping Sofiel from falling.)

"Thank you, Abigail. Truly," and Sofiel says this from the bottom of her heart, means it with every fibre of her soul.

She wishes the fervour behind her words would carry through to Abigail. And she knows it has, when Abigail indubitably reaches forward to thumb at her cheek affectionately, her gaze soft and shiny.

Spurred by the emotions welling up within her, Sofiel decides to press on before she loses her head and chickens out for good. Carefully, she pries Abigail's fingers away from her face, cradling them between her palms delicately.

"There's another thing I have to tell you," Sofiel begins gravely.

Instantly, the expression on Abigail's face darkens, her smile slipping way, pursed into something that is more grim — more dour.

"I wasn't alone when I fell from the Silver City." Sofiel swallows, squeezing down on Abigail's hand for strength. Because what with everything that is going on — with the threat of her descension now set in stone — Abigail needs to know.

For the sake of her own safety.

"My brother, Samael. He fell with me too."