It was not within his character to think of things that could have passed. He was a being that focused singularly on the present and now, and his thoughts did not linger often on then and if. Ezekiel was aware of his past, and most certainly aware of his heredity and the ghosts that he was made up of, but he did not allow it to change his course. This single-minded stubbornness had gotten him through two years and back home, to the father who shared his name with an angel and the sister that had within her the power to be reborn. And he the prophet son, who brought no miracles but spoke in tongues yet.
Still, she doubted. In her doubt grew and twisted like ivy. If she doubted Inferni, if she doubted their father, she would have no place here. Ezekiel knew his father would not turn away his daughter without just cause. A dull fear turned in his belly, but his face did not betray such a thing. So at her touch he forced his eyes to become bright again, pushed aside the shadow and the sickness he had carried long before he had been touched by a demon. It was with the face of a boy untouched by wickedness that he smiled at her. “The world isn’t right,” he offered her vaguely.
After a pause, he tilted his head doggishly and winked at her. “Do you still want that food?”
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