[Gallagher]

"Most of my brothers and sisters are." He moved his hand from Aston's shoulder and placed it at the center of the drawing. Each line that his own skin covered, he drew all over again on the back of his hand. "They speak as if they know of the world, of humanity and souls as if they've ever experienced such things for themselves. They glimpse at a single moment, at a single place and time, and they think they understand the whole of our Lord God's creation."

Unseen wings shifted restlessly against his back. They felt his aggrivation, he was sure, but it couldn't be helped. Not when his fellow angels were so, "Disgustingly blind, the lot of them. Thinking they can understand something they'll never posess." With one hand, he capped off his marker and shoved it back into his pocket. When he focused on the decorated back again, he let out a breath and pressed his energy, his grace, into his skin.

From that single spot where skin met skin, he guided the magic out, followed it along each drawn line, each curve, and urged it throughout the man's body from there. The curse was strong, but not particularly complicated. Not for the effects it caused. Like plucking each note from a song, the angel unwound it. Milliseconds like minutes, seconds like hours, he felt Aston's heart as it beat.

Once.

Twice.

By the third, the angel was already pulling away, finished with his work.