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[volkarin]

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[volkarin]

[ That's— fair, despite what Emmrich would describe as professional curiosity. ]

Of course. I'd appreciate being kept abreast, but not so much that you ought to concern yourself with it rather than looking after your own wellbeing.

If there's anything I can do, please do not hesitate to reach out. And, if you'd be so kind, let me know when you're [ what's the best word for this situation ... ] safe.

😇🎀?

[semicharmed]

I appreciate that. Really. I'll keep you posted.

[ A few minutes later, a couple more photos arrive, showing wings of varying sizes blooming from unexpected and painful-looking places. Matt's arm, his temple (carefully cropped not to show his eyes). There's a video, too: A closeup on Matt's back, where large white wings flex uneasily. No sound.

Matt considers what more he can offer. While he's thinking, his hands type out:

The Bridegroom is coming, beloved.
With red wine and yellow wine.
Engraved upon your wedding ring,
I EAT, THEREFORE I AM.

The words flow with the practiced ease of a memorized poem or prayer, no input required from his conscious mind. But when Matt sees what he's done, he deletes the message.

He doesn't reach back out to Emmrich until days later, when it's all over. ]

Update: Back to normal (successful ritual). Next time someone dies, find a rock with their name on it in the lake and fish it out.