"Aren't we all bound in one way or another?"
Since Abigael made the decision to place herself into a deep slumber, to come to terms with the knowledge Lucifer provided. All seemed well, and calm. She was coming to terms with the fact of it all. But...
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As I stepped back into my restored apartment, everything looked familiar and comforting, yet somehow too spacious. I gazed out into the open space, trying to settle into the feeling of being home again. The silence felt overwhelming compared to the lively atmosphere at Bobby's place, where I had someone to talk to. Having Dean and Sam nearby was reassuring in a way. But still, this place just felt empty now...
Settling onto the sofa, I idly rolled my hand around, conjuring a ball of fire in my palm. The heat radiated against my skin; the sensation familiar yet invigorating. Once the ball reached a suitable size, I flicked my wrist forward as though pitching a baseball. The fiery orb shot from my hand, landing on the logs stacked neatly in the fireplace.
Instantly, the wood caught fire, flames licking eagerly at the logs. The crackling sound filled the room, mingling with the warmth that began to permeate the apartment. I watched the flames dance and glow, casting shifting shadows across the walls. The crackling fire brought a comforting ambience.
"Did humans really invent fire?" A soft, feminine voice echoed from behind me, causing me to jump from my seat and swiftly turn around. There stood a woman with blonde hair, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a book held in the crook of her arm. She held it tightly as if she didn't want anyone touching it.
"Who are you?!" I blurted out, my words tumbling out quickly. "And how did you get in here?!" My voice rose with each word, filled with urgency and concern.
"I see the likeness," the woman stated, and immediately I knew she was referring to who I looked like. Aradia. "Since you and the Winchesters stopped the apocalypse, I've been out of a job," she remarked, her tone carrying a hint of annoyance at the fact that we had prevented the world from ending.
"Doing what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Ensuring that fate runs its course," she replied, causing me to frown as I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "Do you remember the Titanic?" she asked, her gaze fixed on mine, her expression intense.
"It sank in Nineteen-twelve," I replied, furrowing my eyebrows at the seemingly random question. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my head, causing me to gasp and grasp my forehead. A vivid memory flooded my mind—contradicting what I knew. The Titanic never sank; it arrived safely at its destination. The realization was unsettling, and I stared at her in disbelief.
"No, it didn't," I muttered, lifting my head and meeting her gaze squarely. "But I remember it sinking. There's a movie about it," I continued, feeling a growing sense of unease. The discrepancy between my memory and reality was disconcerting, casting doubt on what I thought I knew. "What's happening?" I demanded, my tone darkening as I stepped forward. However, she remained unfazed by my actions.
"Balthazar went back in time and prevented the ship from sinking, altering history and creating fifty thousand lives that shouldn't exist," she explained. I rolled my eyes at the mention of Balthazar's antics, finding it typical of the angel's behaviour. "You shouldn't even remember, but you do," she continued, her expression intrigued by my apparent immunity to the altered reality, as I held both versions of history in my head.
