[ The only comfort Emmrich can really find is in the fact that, were his guest's intention solely to kill him, he'd have attempted it already. Granted, there's still time — he hardly seems happy — but, as the line of Emmrich's jaw goes tense, his brow pinched as Armand flits from one side of the room to the other, he doesn't move in pursuit or in retaliation. Rather, he moves — slowly, slowly — to his desk, taking a seat in his chair as though this were any other visit or consultation. ]

You were ... adversely affected, [ he states rather than guesses, his expression betraying more sorrow than anything else. ] I'm sorry, despite how little that may be worth to you.

[ And though he draws in a breath to further explain himself, he stops short of actually doing so — intention hadn't prevented what had followed, nor will it ease the man's pain, such as it is. Instead, he folds his hands on top of his desk, allowing himself only the briefest consideration of his companion's invocation of Hell. ]

All I know is what the Sibling chose to divulge to me. She described a "ceiling" over this place, one that prevents souls from finding rest. Atonement, I'm afraid, hardly factors into it.

[ His hands lift, then, mimicking a barrier and an enterprising spirit. ]

My order believes that a soul, when separated from the body that had once housed it by death, will then pass into the Fade. Others believe in Heaven or, as you've alluded to, Hell. Such a system of belief might designate this place as Purgatory, but I'm inclined to think that's not quite the case. We're living, breathing, and moreover, our souls remain tethered to our bodies except for when the process of death begins.