Love in 500 Years |-Crowley x Reader-|

2. 1669

|-AUTHOR'S NOTE-|
Doctor Who reference incoming! And a teeny-weeny Travellers cross-over ;)

|-Y/N HANIEL L/N-|

It was 17 years later that Crowley send the first letter.

I had just arrived home from a quick miracle when I found a neatly pressed letter on the small table by the front door. The wax seal was too perfect to have been done naturally, and had a serpent emblem.

I opened the letter curiously, and was met with a page of cuneive writing.

'Dearest angel,

You are cordially invited to a reading of Charles Dickens in Cardiff, Wales, on the 24th of December 1669.
You'll know the way.

Hugs and kisses,
Your husband, of course.'

I chuckled, and rolled my eyes playfully. I would've been suspicious, had it not been very clearly from Crowley.

And maybe I'd be scared, if Crowley were a different demon.

|---|

At the theatre, Crowley wore a black, era-appropriate suit, with a dark red tie. His red hair grew only to his jaw, and was mostly covered by a black top hat. His sunglasses were the same silly little one's he'd been wearing last I saw him.

He nodded as I sat beside him, in the back row of the theatre.

"You got my message," he said, after the author had walked onto stage and begun to recite his novel.

"It was hardly subtle, was it, husband?" I teased. He looked down at me with a smirk.

"So, you wanted to learn about humans?"

I rested my hand unconsciously upon his. "Not yet. I'd like to listen, if it's alright."

"Listen away. What better way to learn about humans than acting like them."

We both turned to the stage, and neither of us noticed when we interlocked hands.

"Now, it is a fact that there was nothing particular at all about the knocker on the door of this house, but let any man explain to me if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without it's undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker, but Marley's face. Marley's face! It looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look. It looked like..."

Charles Dickens looked down at the crowd and gasped.

"By God! It looked like that!" He pointed down at an old woman. As more attention was divided to her, we realised that she was not normal.

She looked almost dead.

She began to radiate a blue aura. And when she rose into the sky, the crowd began to scream and panic. Crowley and I stood up.

"What phantasmagora is this?!" Dickens exclaimed.

I leaned towards Crowley, not looking away from her. "Your side?"

He shook his head. "Yours?"

"Not that I'm aware."

Something caught my attention suddenly. As most of the crowd attempted to disperse, three people walked into the theatre - two young women in formal attire and a man, dressed very strangely for the era.