His mouth pulled into a wry smile and he kept it on his face as he surveyed her. A shoulder hitched in the faintest of shrugs. “That’s right,” he answered. “Angelus, the Scourge of Europe.” There was a brief pause while he considered her words. “A lot of the stories are wrong. Details.” He fluttered a hand dismissively.
"As are many known facts about myself.” She could compare in that fact, comparing her own story to that of his in even the slightest of ways. “The stories to which are written about my own persons have quite the different connotations compared to my own.”
"We at least have that much in common.”