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Summary
As she gets closer, there’s a strong smell of grapes in the air, the sharp pungency of tannins. The women are treading grapes, smashing them underfoot to ferment wine in the name of Dionysus. They hold each other steady by their arms, grip each other tightly. Aziraphale is mesmerized by it, the way they spin and the familiarity they have with each other. She circles at the outskirts, not wanting to interrupt them, but unable to stop staring.
A flash of crimson catches her eye, a tight but long braid of burnished copper, it catches the firelight and sparks even brighter. She moves in closer, unsure and yet certain. The woman smiles, crinkling the lines in the corner of her eyes, black snake tattoo just visible in the low-light. It’s Crowley. Heavens above, it’s Crowley.
Series
- Part 7 of 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020