As I walked up the stairs to check on Isobel, I felt her grief. I wondered why I had reported her when it caused her so much pain. Because it was the right thing to do, my conscience retorted. I had reported her only because if I reported my brother, Lucifer, it might be seen as a power grab. I reached her room, but was hesitant to knock. I could see her on the bed through the double sided mirror that comprised the inward looking wall, and if not for her open, crying eyes, I might have thought she was asleep. I tapped on her door and she sat up and answered, "Come on in Michael, I have to talk to you." I opened her door and sat down in the small chair across from her bed. "How are you doing, psychologically, at least?" I asked her with genuine concern. "I am at peace with my punishment, but Lucifer isn’t," she responded, "Physically, I feel terrible. I have this pain in my head and stomach that I can’t identify." I drew up a blank, having no response. "You know, Michael, I think I just figured out something," Isobel mused, "After all, why did you report me? You could have just as easily reported your brother." "It was the right thing to do," I said in my defense, "After all, you were committing a crime." "I have another theory," she said, raising her voice, "You wanted me just as bad as Lucifer did. You are inquiring about how I am to hide you tracks after your plan backfired. Envy is a deadly sin, but you already know that don’t you Michael?" I searched for something, anything to help my cause, but I knew she was right. "You may leave now, Angel of Redemption," Isobel strongly suggested. I left feeling that same pain in my stomach and my head.