He wasn't certain he believed her, or that he'd heard her correctly.
She believed it, though. That much was obvious, from the earnest look in her eyes, from the way she clung to her coffee cup with such a tight grip, as if it was the only thing tethering her. As if it was what was keeping her real, keeping her here.
"How did it happen?" He asked finally.
Althea seemed to relax a little at that, as if she'd overcome a hurdle, as if she was relieved - finally, somebody believed her. "I don't know. If I did, I would have found my way home. But it did happen, and now..." She cast her eyes down, large blue eyes filling with tears.
It wasn't that difficult to believe that she'd been an angel once. That she still was one, transfigured and altered, changed.
He reached across the table. "You're free. You can live your own life. You can start again."
Her eyes lifted, eyes darker now. "Why would I want that? Why would I want a mortal body, why would I want to give up everything I knew, why would I want to give up light and eternity for earth and darkness? For death?"
"But if you die - "
"I don't know. I don't know anything any more. I used to know everything. And now there's nothing."
"Maybe you fell."
"Maybe I was pushed."
He didn't know if he believed her. He didn't know if he wanted to. He didn't know if he could. She challenged everything, challenged all that he knew.
Or she was very, very ill indeed.