The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 188: Would You Like to Swing on a Star?

Chapter 188: Would You Like to Swing on a Star?

And now, a note on star makers.

First, how many are required to make an entire universe? That's a pointless question because their numbers are not important. All were productive, each one as capable as another in creating a seemingly infinite amount of stars. But a few showed the sort of artistry unqualified for the assembly line. These were given free rein to engineer the more brilliant stuff.

Enter Crowley.

In the Long Before, Crowley was innovated. The scope of his vision was astounding, his attention to detail unparalleled. From the tiniest, most intricate sunbeam to the grandest vistas of whirling galaxies, every frame of his work was a masterpiece. And still the limits of his imagination were barely plumbed, and his need to create could not be sashed.

All colors of the rainbow, all sizes and shapes and combinations: they were his. He bent rules, he broke them even, and played with the results.

And what were the results?
Look through a telescope. Crowley's works were MEANT TO BE SEEN.

But what happened to the results?

You can't see the majority of Crowley's work any longer. It doesn't exist anymore. It lies in the fires of Hell.

During the Fall, his stars became projectiles. Hurled into Heaven to set it alight. For shock and awe value the glitziest constructions tumbled down first. In the thick of things, they were appreciated more for their spectacular explosions than their architecture. Crowley was forced, immobilized in horror and rage, to witnessed whole worlds fall with his stars to smolder at his feet.

Crowley burned in his star fire, that day of the Fall, that day spanning an eon. Heaven in its triumph flung the fire down along with the demons. Crowley landed in a nightmare, an inferno of spoils, a constant reminder of thoughtless murder and destruction. And seeing all your worked turned into a weapon, and having to make your bed in that brave new world, it does something to a person.

Crowley's been clawing his way back since, all to make his bed somewhere else.

And now a note on angels who read too much.

There are many of them. They tend to orate and mark things off, and break seals to cause a rain of frogs, and so on. Aziraphale wasn't this type of angel. He read silently, voraciously. And sometimes, he read ahead.

That was his approach to life. He was filled with a profound need to know how it all ends.

And like many of us, he mused wistfully about what happened after the story was over.

One day he understood that to know that, you have to write the next story yourself.

Crowley sneered nastily. "A shepherd, Law? Really? Shouldn't you be a scientist? Or a teacher? An actuary, oh, that'd be perfect an actuary, give you a chance to spin numbers. Ooo, no, you could run a gambling establishment, even beta! Yes, anything but a.... shepherd?"

"What's wrong with a shepherd?"

"El, just a bit boring is all."

"Boring went under your radar."

"Ah, it did, didn't it," Crowley conceded. Aziraphale's eyes were practically popping out of his reddened face.

"Enough of this! You've been lying to us all this time!"