Rhys was very open now, wasn't he? Adrasia studied him pensively as he spoke, betraying nothing of the angel's immediate reactions to his words. Was it a ploy in its own right, a self-referential vomiting up of all his perceived sins to head off any accusations of willful blindness? Adrasia had heard many of those before. "You know yourself very well," He murmured finally, still holding Rhys' eyes for as long as the witch would lend them, his own soft and dark, "Or profess to. That's good. Many walk through their lives without a thought for the meaning behind their own actions." Their path had wound them past a small fountain and Adrasia let his steps slow to a stop, silent a moment to listen to the gentle music of water over stone. "Still, knowledge proves itself quite deficient without action to follow revelation."
His chin lifted at Rhys' weary laughter, his strange apology. Adrasia took a step away from the witch, letting his hand linger in the crook of Rhys' arm as he turned to face him. "I would not stop someone who clearly feels the need to speak. Contrary to what you claimed to me not so long ago." The angel tipped his head slightly, the faintest of smiles touching his lips for just a moment before it vanished again, "Knowledge of the self will also not save you from guilt. That is what you're enduring, is it not? Confession will not save you from it either, bereft of change. Either you will disavow yourself from this work one day or you will allow your morality to soften for the sake of your sanity. Or perhaps you will do neither and be overwhelmed by their clashing, eventually. I have seen this before many times." Not exclusively amongst mortals, either. But Adrasia didn't say that. He finally dropped his gaze from Rhys' face, looking to the fallen leaves spinning over the surface of the water like errant boats in the autumn breeze. He held no condemnation in his voice, merely quiet certainty. "I'm sure you think another would perpetuate worse cruelties in your position. You may even be right."
“You got a surface-level rundown, don’t sound too proud of yourself just yet.” In spite of everything, the response was entirely good-natured, the flicker of Adra’s smile proving sufficient in pulling Rhys back entirely to the present and out of the fog of his ever-growing guilt. As the celestial continued, Rhys did his best to maintain an engaged front even if he knew already that he was selfish enough to have absolutely no intention of doing the right thing and walking away from the role any time soon. Even with the added pressures of running the coven back home simultaneously, Rhys loathed the idea of halving his workload. Adra was clearly speaking from experience and knew the various outcomes far better than Rhys did but such facts did little to sway the witch.
As the celestial’s gaze broke away, Rhys’ shifted curiously to the night sky above them and he scanned the few faint constellations glimmering above them, a weighted sigh leaving him as he considered the vast expanse. “If I were to give it up, I’d hope for Seth to take my place,” stealing a glance towards the castle, a vaguely fond smile settled into place. “He’s more than capable. It’d be good for him. Then again, I’d hate to tether him to it. I take what liberties I can with it from time to time – small deviations from what’s expected or preferred by the council’s standards – little allowances they’d have to really focus on to notice. It’s not much, but it’s something, and if it means that it grants a reprieve for an individual or two for a few hours a week, it’s well worth the risk of eventually being pulled up on it.” Cutting his gaze back to Adra, Rhys studied him in interest. “Do you ever get this treatment in return? I mean, it’s in your nature to pry and assist, but does anyone ever grant you the same kindness in return? Not just here– in the past, also. It doesn’t seem fair for you to have to shoulder the burdens of others when you’ve likely got your own to bear.”


















