The End of the World...Again? [Aziracrow]

4

"But that's just how things are... One day, you're with the person you love most... and the next..." –he's interrupted by a hiccup. "The next day, they leave you..."

Crowley had been in the bar for two hours, already drunk, letting out all the bitterness and sorrow he carried inside. People at other tables heard him but paid him little mind, only thinking, "Just another heartbroken drunk; best to leave him be." And so the days passed. He no longer terrorised churches while burning his feet; now he drowned his sorrows in alcohol.

In Heaven, surprisingly, everyone was unusually silent, even absent. What had just happened was worthy of a reprimand or scandal, yet no one appeared.

Aziraphale looked around, alarmed, as he slowly approached what he believed to be his creation. He stopped at a prudent distance.

"What..." –he began, still trying to put his words together, but nothing eloquent came to mind. "What are you?"

The young girl on her knees before him tilted her head slightly, looking confused. "I don't know" –she replied.

Aziraphale looked at her, eyes wide in alarm. It wasn't even her sudden appearance that shocked him but rather her appearance itself. Her skin was slightly tanned, her hair a striking blood-red, and her eyes – they were amber. That colour he loved to look at, even painting his bookshop's interior that very shade. Her appearance was that of a young woman of eighteen or so, but her innocence made her look like a child, her body was covered in a long-sleeved silver dress, mimicking the colour of stardust. He knew from these features alone that no one else could have created her. In his loneliness and sorrow, he had unintentionally brought forth a being to fill the emptiness within him.

Recovering slightly from the shock, the Archangel continued questioning the young girl, but to every question, she simply replied, "I don't know."

"A divinely innocent and naive mind," -he thought, marvelling and partly recalling when Gabriel had once shown up at his bookshop, nude and clueless.

"Well..." –he approached her calmly, kneeling on one knee before her. "My name is Aziraphale..." –he introduced himself, but she interrupted.

"Are you my father?" –she asked, her beautiful amber eyes wide with wonder, as if recognising him after a long separation.

Aziraphale's heart leapt, and with a smile, he nodded. "Yes, my dear, I am your father" –he took her hands and helped her to her feet. "Welcome to Heaven."

The young girl beamed and, thrilled, embraced him. At first, the Archangel was startled, but after a brief moment, he relented, returning the hug. After so long, a part of the warmth and tenderness that had once defined Aziraphale was finally rekindling within him.

Aziraphale gave her appropriate clothing; though he adored the silver dress, he wanted her to look more in line with Heaven's etiquette. He dressed her in a grey skirt and vest ensemble, with a white shirt beneath, resembling a school uniform. From that moment on, Aziraphale dedicated himself fully to teaching her everything he knew. Over human months, he taught her the basics, from the Bible's beginning to end, humanity's history – even teaching her a few languages. He also mentioned human food, sparking her curiosity.

"Can we go down and try crepes?" –she asked, her voice childlike, laughing, with a dreamy gaze.

Aziraphale shook his head, somewhat saddened. "No, my dear. I promise that when it's possible to go to Earth, the first thing I'll do is take you for crepes. But for now, we can't". –he gently stroked her lovely red curls.

This disappointed her, but she accepted it without further questions. She didn't pry because, on the day she'd bombarded him with questions, he'd nearly lost his composure.