"Made up because the evidence is resolute," Micolash retorts with certainty. "There is no comparison. I have been both. And to have known an existence where I did not have to tend to an endlessly needful body, only to be thrust back into one? It is hellish. The only thing keeping me calm in the face of it is my cage. It...numbs me. Just enough. Just enough to not dwell endlessly upon the horrors of being. Soft and. Vulnerable flesh." The distaste is tangible and dripping from every droned word.

As if an example of how it soothes, Micolash reaches both hands to stroke at the bars around his head. Like he has to reassure himself that they're still there, or he just finds the feel of their rusted iron calming on its own.

However, his hands freeze where they are in their self-soothing caresses when he hears a specific word. His head tilts to one side behind his enclosure. "...Some of. Us?" The man said some of US like human worshippers. He's quite sure of it. Not that he's a stranger to mishearing or simply hearing things others do not or imagining the hearing altogether. But Micolash feels confident in this one!