And in his hand, glowing with holy fire, was Aziraphale’s halo. If Crowley squinted, he could almost make out the ancient Enochian script around the rims. He couldn’t read it anymore, the knowledge of it torn from him along with his Grace, but the sight of it still stirred something deep inside, in the place where a single spark of sanctity still lived. It was that spark which had allowed him to do so many blessings in Aziraphale’s name—and which now allowed him to cling to proof of Aziraphale’s Divinity without being immolated.
Secret project update!
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