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There is something calling out to him in the dark.
Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to follow the call, his own light washes the shadows away, the sound always just a step to far for him to catch up too.
He can't hear what it's saying, no matter how hard he listens. If he follows, it runs. If he stays put, it never comes closer, never speaks louder.
it's frustrating, to hear it murmured in the dark, so close yet forever too far away. He tries to smother his own light, tries to snuff out himself to dray the voice closer, but while it grows louder he still can't understand it.
knowledge lurking at the corners of his being, forever out of reach.
it's how Crowley finds him finally, his grace muffled almost into nonexistence - teetering on being forever lost - straining against his own nature to listen. the serpent shakes him back into awareness, spewing hateful words in his fear as he draws the ethereal nature back to itself.
the light flickers....
grace, while bright light, is not a flame. just as the fire that burns in him has no light. grace is a mist to his fire. too much grace will smother his flame. to much flame will dry out and destroy grace. they have walked a very careful line foe along time.
the grace is almost gone. Crowley has to extinguish his own infernal flame to the point of near nonexistence before approaching. he coaxed the mist, the brightness. if fight him - curses him, tells him to quiet, he's trying to hear.
he will hate himself later, when he realizes it was a trap, but now he does nothing but rage as Crowley drags his grace out, pulling it like the cloud of a nebula he once shaped.
the call fades in the light.
Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to follow the call, his own light washes the shadows away, the sound always just a step to far for him to catch up too.
He can't hear what it's saying, no matter how hard he listens. If he follows, it runs. If he stays put, it never comes closer, never speaks louder.
it's frustrating, to hear it murmured in the dark, so close yet forever too far away. He tries to smother his own light, tries to snuff out himself to dray the voice closer, but while it grows louder he still can't understand it.
knowledge lurking at the corners of his being, forever out of reach.
it's how Crowley finds him finally, his grace muffled almost into nonexistence - teetering on being forever lost - straining against his own nature to listen. the serpent shakes him back into awareness, spewing hateful words in his fear as he draws the ethereal nature back to itself.
the light flickers....
grace, while bright light, is not a flame. just as the fire that burns in him has no light. grace is a mist to his fire. too much grace will smother his flame. to much flame will dry out and destroy grace. they have walked a very careful line foe along time.
the grace is almost gone. Crowley has to extinguish his own infernal flame to the point of near nonexistence before approaching. he coaxed the mist, the brightness. if fight him - curses him, tells him to quiet, he's trying to hear.
he will hate himself later, when he realizes it was a trap, but now he does nothing but rage as Crowley drags his grace out, pulling it like the cloud of a nebula he once shaped.
the call fades in the light.
