[Raphael reacts with immediate suspicion, getting to her feet in one impossibly quick, smooth motion. One hand clenches reflexively, wishing she had her sword out but knowing it's useless. She's too tense, immediately too stiff and, with no eyes on her, too impossibly sad. Something in her eyes is just a little dulled in a way they've never been before- the dim heaviness of knowing this won't end.
The event will end, surely. But even if Michael returns from the Wastes, nothing will change. She will burn until she goes insane and becomes like Lucifer, or until they break free and she has the freedom to return home and labor towards a fruitless goal that will get her nothing but death or an eternity alone. This hallucination, this repeated vision of her brother come back to taunt her is just the latest visual aid. Her tension is twofold, emotional and practical: the last two times she saw Michael, the phantom attacked her with surprising strength, cracking the wall of Lucifer's mausoleum. She isn't surprised that it's speaking to her, only that it is greeting her.]
[Offline]
The event will end, surely. But even if Michael returns from the Wastes, nothing will change. She will burn until she goes insane and becomes like Lucifer, or until they break free and she has the freedom to return home and labor towards a fruitless goal that will get her nothing but death or an eternity alone. This hallucination, this repeated vision of her brother come back to taunt her is just the latest visual aid. Her tension is twofold, emotional and practical: the last two times she saw Michael, the phantom attacked her with surprising strength, cracking the wall of Lucifer's mausoleum. She isn't surprised that it's speaking to her, only that it is greeting her.]
Stop.