"What. Have you done. To /my daughter/," Matariel demands. Lora lowers her blade, permitting the Rain Choir to take an angry step forward. Your shadow rises protectively, with a silent snarl of challenge on its tenebrous face.
"Down, Whisper," you order. "I knocked her out, Lord Matariel, and nothing more. She and I have been enemies for some time now."
"And what grudge do you bear?" the angel scoffs.
"Your daughter has been attempting to become a god so she can have a sense of self-worth. I'd like you to examine that sentence and tell me where the morally wrong part is," you tell him, flatly.
"She wouldn't dare. After I disciplined her -"
Okay. That's quite enough of that.
"/After/ you disciplined her, your daughter helped a madman imprison and enslave her aunt, a madman who promised her godhood as a /bride-gift," you interrupt, your respectful tone dropping into an enraged snap. "/After/ you disciplined her, she founded her cult all over again and gathered soldiers and assassins to prosecute her grievance and kill anyone who got in her way, and I'm pretty sure she did all of that to impress /you/. I would like you to examine that and tell me /where the morally wrong part is/."
Matariel looks offended, but he stops walking towards you, stormy eyes flicking to Seraphina.
"What in all of Hell did you do to her?" you demand.
"I - /nothing/. I disciplined the girl when she grew out of hand!"
"Nothing?" Lora murmurs. "That's exactly what you did, Matariel the Weeper. /Nothing/. All of her life, you've done /nothing/." Lora's remaining chains manifest around her, and the angel rattles them, like an accusation. "Listen to all this /nothing/ you did, /brother/."
"I will not be spoken to this way!"
"Her fate needs deciding. You can participate in that, or you can abandon her. Tell me her story, Matariel," you demand softly. "Or leave, and I'll try to give her a dignified death."
"You wouldn't -"