The wind bites.

It should not be in here. This is a cave. This is the second time this has happened. He doesn't know exactly how to feel, going into a cave to be warm and coming out cold. But there it is, the biting wind, and he shudders. Then, a need to sneeze. That's a flower petal, and Azrael is pretty sure he has hay fever. Ugh. Another weakness of this body.

He doesn't bother with the forgotten petal, eager to keep moving, but there's a woman there, and she wasn't there before. His ears swivel backwards. Women appearing out of nowhere was something Slaanesh liked to do.

(and he can still feel the touch of soft fingers against his scalp, the warmth of the woman's lap, the soft sound of her laughter. "things denied to you when you became a tool and not a man.")

She's pretty, and that's a dangerous thing. Soft things are the sharpest knives against a skin that's used to pain. He backs up, putting more distance between himself and her, but there's not much room before the wall comes close.

By now, the scrambling of his claws against stone would certainly get someone's attention.