And for the lovely Ciel Grayve, in all my bias:
"Those tears... like raindrops on porcelain, they were. I couldn't say she had an angel's face, because no angel deserved that sort of praise, not in a world where they kept their distance from the affairs of mere mortals. No, she was beyond angel. Long, and lithe, and with all the grace of a court. And when she looked up at me, I was frozen, and I knew, then, that I would gladly choke the life from a real angel, if she but asked me for it. But what was -she- to the deceased?"
"Those tears... like raindrops on porcelain, they were. I couldn't say she had an angel's face, because no angel deserved that sort of praise, not in a world where they kept their distance from the affairs of mere mortals. No, she was beyond angel. Long, and lithe, and with all the grace of a court. And when she looked up at me, I was frozen, and I knew, then, that I would gladly choke the life from a real angel, if she but asked me for it. But what was -she- to the deceased?"
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."