It felt rather strange to look at Uriel's hands and realize that the blond strands being currently braided had moments before been connected to his own head. Suddenly struck by odd curiousity Michael tiled his head to the side, marveling the feeling of not having hair brushing his neck as he did so.

To Uriel's words he could say nothing. Therefore they both just stood there for some time, waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Michael gave up. He really didn't know what to say, and the memory of kissing Raphael floating around his mind was making him rather... bothered.

"Thanks for your company, Uriel," he sighed. "I think I need some time alone right now. I'm too confused to even think straight."

He turned around to go to the door. Just then, however, his eyes met something, and he froze, staring in horror at the painting of a witch being burned alive... a witch who bore a significant resemblance to Raphael.

"...Uriel?" he asked, his voice very quiet. "Just what is that?"