"... You were a summoner? Normal human? Or - something else?"

"I was a summoner. I was born in 1987 and I lived to be twenty-two and then somebody murdered me and next thing I knew I was in Hell."

She stares. ".... Oh fuck, that was why you said you'd wished I was around a hundred and fifty years ago, no one let you say goodbye, fuck I am so sorry. Does - do summoners go to Hell, or just random people or - or what?"

"Here's where we depart from 'secrets of the universe' and enter 'mostly speculation'. Although I'm going to mention as an aside that my parents are both long dead by now, were the only relevant humans, and I have managed to get letters to the both of them via concordances on a few occasions - fairies are shit with mail but sometimes something gets through. I think that all summoners, on death, become some kind of daeva. I don't remember getting to pick, but the consistency of personalities - limited, but present - within types suggests to me that it's about some kind of personal sympathy with the magic. I'd peg you for an angel-to-be. But the overwhelming majority of daeva just appear out of nowhere with wings already stuck on - ninety-nine percent of them, at a guess, maybe less overwhelming among the ones who take summons. Your one angel might really have a sister who is also an angel but I'd still bet on 'they adopted each other' to explain them. And a lot of the dead summoners are a hell of a lot older than me and keep less thorough diary entries. They might not remember."

"I'd like it if you landed in Hell, and have no track record with which to demonstrate the accuracy of my guess, but you feel like an angely person."

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a glowing compliment or a vague insult," she teases. "That I am an 'angely person.' You haven't gotten along with any of the summoned angels."

"They all despise me. I liked angels fine when I was alive."

"You are alive," insists Adana. "Just - with some cosmetic adjustments, reinforcement, and a large smattering of magic."

"All right, I liked angels fine when I was a human. The cosmetics aren't intrinsic to being a demon, by the by, the ones of us who land with human histories have to add wings on purpose. The natively demonic start out with them. I considered doing feathery wings just to screw with people but I decided against it."

"If I ever saw these off and replace them I will consider that," he says, spreading a wing and posing for easy inspection.

"Wait, saw them off?" asks Adana, completely distracted from inspection.

"Angels have it much easier in that department, they can just turn theirs into their cloud-fluff if they feel like it, easy as pie. But I cleverly anticipated this problem and right near the joins there's about a quarter inch with no pain nerves. It'll be sort of gross but not intolerable. And there's a limit to how much it would hurt even if I hadn't thought ahead. The indestructibility relaxes around deliberate body modification but there's still a cap on how much discomfort I can experience."

"That.... Is kind of horrifying, I'm glad you - have a solution to that problem. Have you had to - wait, no, I will not like the answer, nevermind. Are you okay?"

"This is my first set of wings and first tail, if that's what you were going to ask. Do I not seem okay?"

"Yeah, that was it. You seem fine, but I'm now worried for your safety and health."

"...What? Why?"

"Not - any specific reason, I am just - it's a different situation to have someone who has always been a demon to be a demon and for someone who was human to become a demon. Are you - happy? With it?"

"The lack of opportunity for career advancement was a bummer, but then you came along."

That catches her off guard. She smiles a little, and looks embarrassed. "I'm glad I could help," she says, laughing a little.

Adana cackles. "Of course it was. Well now I feel like I am talking to a historical figure, though uh - you got no credit, sorry. History books just say it fell apart then."