𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 ² *ᴇᴅɪᴛɪɴɢ*

~ ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ~

     The summer sun blazed overhead, casting a golden glow over the small, gleaming cottage nestled in the quiet countryside. Its design echoed the rustic charm of Abigael's old home, though this one had been modernised with running water, electricity, and other amenities she never had in the 17th century. A modest garden bloomed behind the house, but beyond that, there was nothing but sprawling fields and endless stretches of lush, whispering trees.

This was her sanctuary—her Chambre de Chasse, the mindscape she had crafted for herself. Here, time felt still. Peaceful. It was a space where she could finally breathe, reflect, and begin to process everything Lucifer had shown her. A place where she could wrestle with her demons—sometimes literally. She could scream. She could throw punches. She could let the storm inside her rage without hurting anyone else.

Because the truth was, when she thought about it too long, the fury came back. Hot. Immediate. Boiling in her blood like wildfire. And she knew what she was capable of if she let it consume her. That's why she'd created this place—to keep the chaos contained. To stop herself from becoming the monster she feared. To protect the people she still dared to love.

Abigael knelt among the blooms in her garden, fingers brushing over wildflowers that had sprung to life with the season. Scattered among them were her favorites—varieties she had discovered and fallen in love with over the centuries. Each one held a memory, a moment, a fragment of a life long-lived. The air was warm and sweet, filled with the scent of earth and blossoms. Birds sang overhead, their melodies weaving through the gentle breeze like an old lullaby.

It had been nearly a year since she took the plunge—since she chose stillness over chaos, healing over destruction.

She stood slowly, wiping her hands on the skirt of her flowing white lace gown. The delicate fabric shimmered faintly in the sunlight as it rose with her, then trailed softly behind while she stepped through the back door of the cottage.

Inside, the kitchen greeted her with its cosy, modern charm—stone countertops, hand-painted tiles, and the faint smell of herbs that lingered in the air. She passed through it without pause, her bare feet padding over the slightly tilted floorboards as she made her way into the living room.

The fireplace crackled to life, its flames casting warm, dancing shadows across the walls. It made the room feel alive, as though the house itself remembered. On the mantel above the hearth stood a single framed photograph, positioned front and centre.

Castiel. Abigael. Jo. Helen. Bobby. Dean. Sam. All of them smiling. It was the only picture she had of all of them together—the one Bobby had snapped just before the day they lost Jo and Helen. A frozen moment, untouched by the bloodshed that followed. Her eyes lingered on it, and a smile spread across her face, full and genuine, as memories stirred gently within her chest.

Lucifer never saw that coming. That she would choose them. That she would find family in the Winchesters. Maybe he thought her fate was fixed. But then again, maybe that road, every twist, every pain, every impossible choice, had always been leading her to them.