Description
'He felt sick to his stomach, the taste of vomit at his tongue. Aziraphale had been sat at his front doors for the last 3 of them, he hadn't eaten or drank, other than a single Ekels cake that was on his window sil just beside him, though that was cloned coated with dust, and he hadn't bothered to blow at it. He'd cried so much his eyes burnt alike Crowley's had, accept this time he struggled to open them at all. Crowley however, had moved, he'd been in and out of pubs, doing laps around them, into his Bentley and back into the Pubs again. This cycle repeated itself for weeks until Crowley had practically ran their stocks barren.' ... 'His eyes looked as though they were made of glass, glass that was shattered, glass that with even the slightest glance would cut you till you ran out of blood to bleed.'
Prologue.
