There's a lengthy pause to follow that question and after a frustrating couple of moments trying to get his wings put away, he gives up with a groan. He buries his face in his hands, fingertips digging into the hairline.

"I don't know." His voice sounded weak and weary, edging in desperate. "I honestly don't know. I turned into a freak and a murderer in one night and you're trying to tell me this is some act of God?"

There's a soft, humorless laugh that sounds slightly unhinged. "the sad thing is is that almost feels like the truth. Like I'm some sort of Angel sent to punish humanity or some such. And that's completely ridiculous."

He can't put his finger on it really, there's so many confusing thoughts, memories, feelings sparking here and there if he gives his mind a moment to slow down and focus.