The fallen angel gazed into the mirror, desperate to cover the wolflike tips of his ears with his now steel-gray hair. The fangs, however, were not so easily concealed, and he closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over.
How long had this been hidden? Hidden from the world, and hidden from him?
He should have known. He really should have known. The name sort of gave it away, now didn’t it?
Azira. Azira fell. Aziraphale.
No wonder Crowley – Raphael – eschewed the use of it, preferring to call him angel instead. Not that he was one of them anymore, but apparently the Healer still saw him that way. He didn’t understand; not enough of his true memory had surfaced for him to know why this might be so.
He closed his eyes once more, unable to stop the tears. He was torn…torn between demanding to know more, or begging Raphael to make him forget again.