She blushes, and I touch her light on the cheek. "What - what should I call you, then?" Think on it. "Bodies change things. Here, I am closer to what I am. There," I gesture in a curious way, meaning outside, "I am more what I once was. You call me Azrael here. And Simon there. In a way it's still right."

"Sorry," she says, as this place echoes with her thought of my name. "Can't 'elp thinkin' on it, sometimes. 'S a powerful name, like the brightest star." That image cuts. I touch the scar. Oh, morning star. It is not morning but I know here, if I looked for it, there would be only empty space. Hope looks down. "You know," she says, after a pause, y'know I love yer, don'tcher? I don't mean badly by it. Ain't wantin' nothin' of you. Don't need nothin' but knowin' what you are."

I smile again, for I am fond of Hope. "I am hardly the brightest star. You have not met my brothers." Hesitate, but of any I should be open with her. "You would not like them, perhaps. They are great and burning things, and cannot dim their own light." I lift up her chin, looking to her. "I know you love me, Hope. You aren't afraid, of what I am? Of all my brothers, I am among the least loved."