Castiel can't say he understands why this creature is being so, well.. kind to him, in comparison. Not that he's a particularly pleasant thing, and Castiel's anger at the treatment of his father and subsequent imprisonment still burns low in his heart like molten magma beneath a dormant volcano, but still. He'd expected to be thrown into a dungeon, to be locked away in the cold, not given a.. a room, and fresh furs.

It's a nice room, too. Thick with dust like everything else, but the furniture is fine and the windows and arches are beautiful, and there's a good view overlooking the overgrown, ill-tended gardens. Castiel can't help but feel like a bird in a gilded cage.

"Thank you," he says, stiffly, standing ramrod straight in the center of the room, his features schooled into perfect unreadable stone.