They're both tattered remains of what they were; that's what there is left to be. She is a ghost in the night who wails in discordant Symphony: Holla, holla, holla. She is that she is, that she was, that is all.

The Cherub covers his ears and covers his eyes and weeps.

She settles down on his back, leans over, peers with cinder eyes into hidden lion eyes. "They're dead," she says.

The Cherub weeps.

"Dominic died in twelve pieces," she murmurs, and her hands dance patterns against his massive paws, burn the smell of fur into the air. "Twelve, one for each of his loyalties. Daniel-"

"Shut up," the Cherub begs.

"Daniel died-"

"Shut up-"

"-alone."

The Cherub bucks, tries to throw her off but she cannot let go, she never learned to let go, she holds on too tight, she's never managed even when she wants to let go. "Shut up!" he roars. "I couldn't get to him! I couldn't get to him, there were too many to fight, we got separated, we got flanked, I couldn't get to him!"

"I know," she says.

"I fought as far as I could, I fought everything, I tried to get there. I tried to get to him! There were too many demons in the way, I killed so many, I tried to get to him! I heard him call, I tried to get to him!"

"I know," she says.

"I never wanted to lose them both like this!" the Cherub wails.

"I know," she says, and leans down. "It wasn't your fault."

He burns in her grasp, and knows freedom before he knows nothing at all.