Mazikeen had never been one for functions such as these, with their pomp and their gowns and the tittering of people whose lives bared no consequence upon her own. When she had first decided to attend, it was simply to bare witness to some of the beings she could sense moving across her perception -- shadows of power or energy or magicks, some from Heaven and some from Hell.

Nowhere in Mazikeen's original equation was he involved and nor did she believe herself to have the heart or the stomach to include him.

And yet here she was, standing beside him in a dress, the color of which was his choosing. With one hand raised towards her mask, she looked up towards the elaborate ceiling overhead, adorned with of laughable representations of what humans imagined the Host was like. Overfed babies fawning over resplendent saints. She laughed, very quietly to herself before saying very lowly: "As inaccurate in this creation as in the last."