The supreme governing body of Heaven, the Council of Light, has granted Raven their leniency after her vacillation of their methods. Where Raven had come to doubt their efficacy, they met her back with consecrated blade, severing her angelic wings with the claim it was a benediction. To have a guardian of the balance, a messenger of the divine, a protector of the innocent and steward of creation examine the doctrine that created her could have resulted in a fate far worse. An exile to Earth with clipped wings is a demonstration of mercy.

The Council of Light has assured Raven that atonement is probable should she overcome her radical, impure thoughts. They simply cannot permit demurral in their divine instruments. Raven is— was?— an angel defying the celestial order by questioning if the Council of Light's methodology is too rigid, is failing to adapt to the metamorphosing needs of the universe.

"I cannot disentangle my divinity from myself." Raven is hunched over on a tufted ottoman, her white cloak discarded somewhere amongst the fine furniture. "In truth, I do not know if I am good because I am or good because I have been created in such an image." The white gloves that she usually dons are folded in her lap. Her bare fingertips skim across the smooth edge of the chakra upon her forehead. "Am I even good?"

The acquisition of free will and thought suggests she is no longer inherently pure. Her exile is a testament to that. Now, the Council of Light demands she prove her virtue and eradicate her distrust of them lest she face being cast out in its truest form as a fallen angel.

The holy blade with which they took her wings leaves a phantom pain. You, her most unholy adversary, a demon under the command of the Infernal Tribunal of Hell— are her only solace. Even as Raven knows that you have every intention to tempt her further, truly turn her from the influence of Heaven, she still wants you to console her. There is no one else who would commune with her.

Your warm hands knead away the ache in her back.