Uriel glanced at Bast. "Oh, I'm perfect," she replied, still giggling. "Perfectly okay. Perfectly happy, too."

She grinned. "I'm manic. Or hypomanic, at the very least. And I feel so perfectly, completely happy!" She spread her arms, turning her gaze to the sky. "I feel like flying," she said cheerfully. "I would too, if I were a bit further gone. Do me a favour, okay?" Looking at Bast, she cocked her head to side, forcing herself to take control of herself again. "If I spread my wings, grasp them. Cling to them, cling to me, do anything you can to stop me from flying. Right now I don't want to get my baby hurt, but a bit more manic I may not even care."