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You were born on a foggy Monday afternoon in the middle of Winter to Crowley, a demon from the depths of Hell, and Aziraphale, an angel from up in Heaven in their little cottage.

Aziraphale still owned his bookshop at the time, but Crowley sold his flat in London so that they could live together.

The wings which were bestowed upon you were marble white, with little streaks of black here and there. Your wings were quite small, even for a newborn such as yourself, but they knew you would grow into them.

They remember whispering to you words of praise, which you had all but forgotten since you were crying so much, as your little wings flapped and twitched like a chick hatching from an egg.

That was all you remembered from that day; and how your wings didn't feel attached to your body, and if anything, seemed to have a mind of their own.

It scared you as a newborn, everything was so loud, so hectic, so... confusing. 

Aziraphale, whom you call "Papa" told you that when you continuously blinked open your glassy eyes, which was adjusting and burning from the new and incredible world around you, you whimpered.

Crowley said that your eyes were the same as his, and his bottom lip began to quiver.

You had snake eyes, and the pupils would dilate like a cat as you looked into Crowley's own eyes.

They were a lovely shade of e/c.

"Aziraphale, our child has my eyes. Would you look at that." Crowley breathed out.

"Yes, dear, I know. They are beautiful. But please, don't overexert yourself." Aziraphale replied back.

Despite their excitement and anxiousness to be parents, they knew that your life wouldn't be... the best.

When you were born on that foggy Monday afternoon in the middle of Winter, crying and wailing, you had no idea that you were a Nephilim.

hybrid of an angel and a demon, different in not only ideology, but in values and strengths.

You weren't even supposed to exist, and the mere thought of you actually here on Earth at this very moment baffled Crowley and Aziraphale.

But despite everything, they loved you from the moment they laid eyes on you, and named you Y/n.


 At the young and insightful age of five, you were already starting to realize your place in the world.

The Them, who were already teenagers by the time you could walk and talk, would babysit you when Aziraphale and Crowley had other business to attend to.

Aziraphale still had his bookshop, after all.

The Them accepted you into their group fairly quickly, and even though they were too young for childish shenanigans now, they still taught you the ins and outs of life and what you could do to pass the time.

The Them would tell you how school worked, and that by this age you should have made dozens upon dozens of friends. 

You would get to see them everyday, learn new things, grow up surrounded by children who don't judge the way someone looks and acts like adults do.

But that wasn't how Crowley and Aziraphale saw it, unfortunately.

Your Papa could already imagine it:

 You would be minding your own business, most likely bouncing a ball in the courtyard by yourself when the children would steal your tinted glasses right off you head when you're not looking.

The children would see your snake-eyes.

They would whisper amongst themselves and call you a freak and become even more afraid as you beg and plead with them that you mean no harm.

They would break your glasses right in front of you on the pavement and laugh as you choked a sob.

An entire group of peers would surround you as you helplessly picked up the shards of dark glass in some silent hope that the pieces would go back together if you tried hard enough.

One child would have the courage to stomp on your hand as you frantically picked up the pieces.

Glass would plunge into your delicate palm, making you scream in despair and pain.

Make you cry.

A teacher would see the commotion and force the group to disperse, and then they would see what you were.

In a state of disarray, you would make your wings appear through the back of your clothing, and you would plead for help, only for the adult to be equally as afraid, and call you names a child is never supposed to hear.

~~~

Crowley, however, called that situation "utterly ludicrous", as children would only be interested in who you are as a person, since children are, quite simply, idiots. 

To them, it doesn't matter if you're a walking fish, what matters is that you're a nice person. 

Crowley said that if they saw your snake-eyes, sure, they would poke fun at it.

The children would probably crowd around you and come up with names as to what your eyes look like.

"My kitty-cat has eyes like yours!"

"You have the eyes of a sheep."

"Oh! My dad has a lizard that looks like you!"

They would probably call it strange, but then one of them would simply give you your sunglasses back and give you a cool nickname.

As for your wings, they would think it was purely a costume hidden under your clothes, or incredibly soft if they got to see them in person and touch them.

Keeping your wings preened was your parent's job since you couldn't reach behind your back, so maybe a few kids would offer to straighten and clean your wings as carefully as possible.

Crowley reassured Aziraphale that you would never be a freak in a child's eyes, but to an adult, you were suspicious.

That being said, Crowley and Aziraphale still took you to the park and allowed you to play with the other children with their supervision, of course.

Boys and girls would accept you almost immediately and allow you to chase them around the park, play pirate, etc. but if things got too out of hand, such as a child asking to try on your glasses, or if one of them got too rowdy with you, like a game of tag turned into a game of push, your father and your papa would immediately make you leave and take you somewhere else to have fun.

Sometimes one of the children would fall down and start to cry while holding their knee in pain, and the other kids would crowd around them as blood would seep out of their wound.

Once, you made the mistake of healing their wound using a miracle, thinking you were helping them.

Both the scrape and the blood disappeared before everyone's eyes, and their mouths went agape.

"How did you do that?" They asked after getting to their feet and testing their leg.

"A miracle." You replied shyly, smiling.

When you told Crowley and Aziraphale about it, they weren't happy in the slightest. 

They called it dangerous and unnecessary, and that the wound would have healed on its own without your help.

You told them you were just testing out your powers, and wanted to know what would happen if your playmates saw your power.

They abruptly stopped scolding you right then and there, but they never said that you couldn't do it in the future.

You were a demon/angel hybrid with irregular powers that needed to use them.


Crowley, whom you call Father, would always be the one to pick you up in his Bentley, and call you his "Little Devil" (which Aziraphale didn't like, as he would call you his Little Angel, thus ending in the two of them calling you their Little One to end their bickering).

He would take you out to a little cafe since you had gained your papa's fixation with food.

One of which was sweets.

Behind your tinted sunglasses, he watched your little inhuman eyes widen in excitement as your strawberry shortcake came into view as a waitress carried it on the tray, along with your glass of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a chocolate straw.

Your father always ordered a small cup of espresso.

In the summer months, you would get a cold glass of milk, but the hot chocolate was special in the colder months, especially when it was your birthday.

He hated to see you wear sunglasses that hid your pretty eyes, but he always made sure to look into them as the two of you held a conversation. 

He'd laugh when you recalled a situation that occurred in the bookshop, something along the lines of a customer almost making off with a book and you swooped in to save the day, or you would be messing around at Aziraphale's desk and spill ink all over the place, including yourself.

Once you got through eating, you would just sit there and stare out the window into the bustling street with your hot chocolate in hand, which was almost entirely empty and didn't taste as good once your stomach was full.

Your father would ask if you're ready to leave, and your face would suddenly scrunch up when he broke the silence.

You slowly looked away from the street and stared into the cup with shaking fingers.

Your wings were pushing through your shoulder blades, and it hurt.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" He would ask, seemingly sprawled out on his seat. 

Using your magic, you would always make sure to keep your wings hidden in public, but sometimes you would stare too far off into space and make them pop out of your back beneath your clothes.

They would start to itch and attempt to flap, making it seem like something was crawling on your back to the humans around you.

You would attempt to make them disappear, but they would still be there, and Crowley would understand that it wasn't entirely your fault.

Sometimes your thoughts got the better of you since you were a child, after all.

He didn't make a big fuss about every little thing like Aziraphale did, so all he did was stand to his feet and put some money on the table to pay for the food and drinks, and offer you his hand.

Shuffling out of the booth, you would nervously scrunch your shoulders downwards in an attempt to shield the bulge of your wings, but once your father held your hand and used his own little miracle to make your wings disappear, you felt grateful.

No one even bothered to notice.


In Aziraphale's bookshop, you had the very important job of putting away books on the lower shelves to keep your papa's back from getting sore, and keeping the customers from buying the books at all by shooing them away if they even dared to sneak off with it.

As much as you hated to admit it, the bookshop was... dull and boring to your five year old self. It was a lot of, "Sit and don't make a fuss. Papa is very busy."

As he walked to and fro lining the shelves with books no one will never even buy, your eyes teared up, but he promptly apologized.

You remember sitting in a corner of the bookshop near the door, coloring a yellow sun that shone down on you, your papa, and your father in a green field of flowers.

You... hadn't gone to school despite what The Them made it out to be, so you were educated via books and computer programs. 

Crowley and Aziraphale told you that it was "too dangerous" again and again despite your wishes, and then you never really brought it up again.

The customers of the shop greeted you as they walked inside, and you would greet them back, stating you were happy to see them browsing.

Your papa would smile to himself as people asked if you enjoyed staying here so often, and being the child that you were, replied that you loved seeing your papa everyday surrounded by books.

On rainy days, rarely anyone came into the bookstore. This was mainly because your papa didn't want wet hands touching such rare books, so he switched the open sign to closed until the rain let up.

Those days were special to you.

Equipped with his incredibly tiny spectacles, he would miracle up a crackling fire in the fireplace and instruct you to find a book that managed to grab your attention while he whipped up a cup of tea for the two of you.

Prancing around the bookstore, while listening to the rain pelting the roof, you would look for fairy tales and the like.

Your papa had a complete edition of Grimm's Fairy-tales, so using all your strength, you had managed to carry the heavy book over to the chair where your papa was already savoring the cup of tea.

A small bowl of biscuits was on the table as well, but they were too far away for you to reach. You were so small that if you tried to reach your hand over, everything would fall to the ground.

"Ah, fairy tales? Those are always a classic." You heard those words often, since you always grabbed that book on rainy days.

"Fairy-tales are tickety-boo." You would giggle, making your papa laugh as you quoted him.

"Indeed they are! Now, let's get to reading."

Placing the book on the table, your papa lifted you up onto his lap and allowed you to sit back against his chest, paying no mind to whether or not you mess up his bow-tie.

"Is there any particular tale you wanted me to read today, my little one?" He asked. 

The rain seemingly pelted harder against the bookshop, and a clap of thunder sounded in the distance, but you paid no mind to it.

You jumped sightly since it caught you off guard, but your papa was here to protect you.  

"Little Snow-White, papa!" You replied back, grinning from ear to ear.

"Alright, let's see here..." Your papa whispered, also beginning to grin.

He would take a sip of his tea, turn to the page, and begin reading.


In Heaven and Hell however... you were meant to choose a side.

Until you chose between Heaven or Hell to become a demon or angel, you were nicknamed "Hybrid".

That was how your life was, from the moment you stepped foot in both sides as a five year old, and now that you were a growing teenager.

In human standards, you were almost a fully grown adult, but still a teenager in the eyes of your parents.

You were older now, both physically and mentally, and ready to make decisions for yourself without the approval of your parents, but since they were from opposite sides, they wanted you to choose the best, or no side at all.

Whether it was Gabriel or Beelzebub, which were the two you saw most of the time, or any other demon or angel, they seemingly scorned you.

They whispered things to one another, watching you flutter your unused wings around and stretching them.

The marble white wings, with strokes of black here and there, were your wings. It didn't matter what anyone else thought.

Crowley and Aziraphale were on either side of you as you traversed through Heaven, making sure to shield you from the other angels' glares and words.

This was how meetings usually went from when you were little to now.

You would continuously go back and forth from Heaven and Hell and be asked to join their ranks, be given a title, and be known as Y/n rather than Hybrid amongst the factions.

Each and every time, you would respond, "Can I think it over? I don't think I'm ready." 

Gabriel or Beelzebub would send you and your parents back to Earth and wouldn't bother the three of you for another year, but you knew they weren't satisfied with their answer.

You didn't want to join a side, and if anything, followed Crowley's words, "We're on our side." more than anything.

But you just had to make mistakes.


It was meant to be a quick session between Gabriel and Beelzebub, nothing more or less. You would say, "I'll think on it." and everyone would be on their way.

Then why was God and Satan here instead?

Everything you had done throughout your life led up to this one simple moment, where you met the two beings in charge, and they weren't happy in the slightest.

Well, Satan wasn't happy anyway.

The two of them were different in more ways than one, what with Satan having dark red skin and multiple black horns adorning his head. 

As for God, she was... well, you couldn't find a word for it. She wasn't glowing, if you could even use that word, it was more like a golden aura was surrounding her. 

Both your father and your papa were at a loss for words, especially since Armageddon never struck and no one ever really talked about it.

"A-Ah, almighty, I see you have decided to make our acquaintance." Aziraphale stuttered, catching you off guard.

Were you supposed to be worried? You've never met Satan and God before.

"Yes, it is wonderful to see you, Aziraphale. Your child is very... stunning. They seem to have gathered a mix of both of your genes." God replied, taking a step forwards to get a better look at you.

Your wings twitched, which is something they do on occasions, but this was a different twitch.

This was a fight or flight response.

"Crowley." Satan nodded Crowley's direction and your father awkwardly waved. 

"Glad to see you're here." He said with some snark.

You remembered hearing from Aziraphale that God loved all of her children, even the ones that were... not meant to exist.

With a flick of her hand, she forced your parents to stand back as she got a closer look at you.

A smile was adorning her features, and she ran a hand through her short hair.

"Just as I suspected. Snake-eyes, white and black wings... you are a hybrid, no doubt." 

Crossing your arms, you replied, "Yeah, I've been one all my life. What about it?"

You heard your papa take in a breath in shock and fear, and you realized that the first thing you said to one of the most important beings in the universe was an impolite reply.

Quickly uncrossing your arms as you saw God's smile begin to widen, you are suddenly lifted off the ground as your wings gain a mind of their own, like they tried to protect you from an attack that was never going to happen.

Satan growls a swear word under his breath, one that would make your parents ground you for a good week if they heard you speak it out loud.

"O-Oh, forgive me, I... this wasn't..." You stuttered out, making your wings flap you to the floor.

Satan and God looked towards each other for a moment, hoping to end this discussion early so they can get back to their duties.

"Y/n, do you really want to pick a side?" God asked, folding her hands together impatiently.

Crowley tapped his foot nervously for some reason, forcing Aziraphale to nudge him in the shoulder to stop.

Satan continued, "You're a hybrid, which means you have both the power of a demon and the power of an angel."

You nod, but reply, "My father, Crowley, tried to teach me how to turn into a snake, but I don't have that power. Somehow, it was lost to me."

God and Satan both nod, but it seemed like they weren't really paying attention.

In time, they knew you could learn how to turn into an animal.

"Well, yes, but you didn't answer our question." God said.

They were letting you choose your own fate.

You had the choice of becoming an angel, a demon, or pick no side at all and live as an angel/demon with your family back on Earth.

You looked towards your parents for assistance, but you knew they had no say in this.

It didn't hurt to furrow your brows together though to make it look like you were deep in thought.

"I... Um, I don't... want to choose a side. I'm sorry." You look away from them to the floor.

You expected God to spout praise about Heaven, or expected Satan to throw a fit that Hell isn't that bad, but once you made up your mind, they could tell you meant it.

"Then it's decided then," God said, shrugging to herself, "You are on your own side."

Satan scoffed, "Then are we done here-"

Crowley spoke up. "Then does that mean my own child is still called Hybrid? I named my child Y/n, not Hybrid!" 

His voice echoed off the walls. 

You never heard your father so angry.

Your papa looked physically taken aback, but stood behind his husband. "He's right. We've raised this child from birth to now, and I'll be... I'll be damned if I have to see or hear one more angel or demon call Y/n such a degrading name! ...Pardon me for speaking out of line."

Twiddling your hands together, you stay quiet.

This was for the adults to handle; not you... Even if it had to do with your own name.

God opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words to say.

Satan, tried as he might, also couldn't give a proper answer.

God tried, "W-Well, given that you are a Nephilim, a mix of both an angel and a demon, you do not belong to either side. You're just Y/n, and you'll stay that way until you cease to exist."

Your eyes blinked. "Since I'm not on either side, no one will call me Hybrid. I'm just... here then."

"Indeed you are." God said.


As much as you hated to admit it, you didn't take the news very well... not at all.

Granted, you were glad that they would finally stop asking you to choose a side, and even cease in calling you Hybrid, but that was... it.

Neither Hell or Heaven needed you, as you were an outcast. 

In other words, you were unneeded, disappointing... worthless.

Your father and your papa tried to reassure you that your decision was not what they expected, but understood what you meant when you were on your own side. 

The three of you were rebels to Heaven and Hell, in a sense...

...Which ended in an evening joyride with your father's stolen Bentley.

Your phone had been ringing and buzzing consistently, most likely from your papa and your father calling and texting you over and over.

But you paid them no mind.

A Queen & David Bowie mix, which was a common favorite amongst Crowley, was currently blasting through the speakers of the aging car in the dead of night.

Specifically, the song in question, ironically enough, was Under Pressure.

It seemed the car was poking fun at your moral dilemma, and only added to the fact that you were truly "under pressure".

Every single building you drove past most likely woke up a human in a state of disarray hearing the poor Bentley screech across the road.

Your eyes narrowed behind your glasses, and your boot pressed down on the pedal again.

You heard the engine roar in response, and it flew down the streets of London unbeknownst to Crowley and Aziraphale. 

This wasn't just teenage angst or a temper tantrum, dear God no, this was a revolution.

The car seemed to have a mind of its own and even tried turning the steering wheel down a street that took you back home, much against your wishes.

Forcing the Bentley down another street, away from your home, you cursed the car and slumped back into the drivers' seat.

"...Please, just... let me have a moment, okay?" You asked the car, and it seemingly obeyed.

You've been in this car since you were nothing more than an infant, and it knew that. 

In a way, the car knew you like a friend, because it knew Crowley and Aziraphale loved you.

From behind your tinted glasses, your eyes started to blur and salty tears started to fall as the car drove at a slower pace all on its own to keep your emotions from getting any wilder.

The music became quieter, and switched to a song better suited to calming someone down, rather than making you even angrier.

Yet again, ironically enough, the song had switched to Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow, incidentally one of your favorite Queen songs.

Damn that Bentley.

"You're a good old car, you know that?" You said in-between sobs.

It hummed in reply, and started taking you down a road, but not towards home. The Bentley was taking you somewhere else.

Lifting your tinted sunglasses to wipe away your tears, you noticed the sign that read St. James' Park illuminated by the headlights.

Parking on the side of the road, the car shut off and allowed you to go on a much needed stroll in the park.

"Thanks." You replied coolly, as you stepped out and closed the door.

In the dead of night, you began to walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the place you grew up as a child.

The phone continued to ring in your pocket, so as you continued walking, you finally decided to pick up.

"Hello?" You sighed out.

It just had to be your papa on the other end of the line.

"Oh, good grief, Y/n! You finally decided to pick up! Are you alright? You're not hurt are you? The Bentley is gone and you're gone and... we didn't know what to think. You just sped off without a word and..."  Your papa began to trail off. "We were afraid you- What, Crowley-"

You could hear the phone being snatched out of your papa's hands, and heard his voice as he fought to get it back.

"Y/n... if my Bentley has a single scratch on it, you are in big trouble." Your father growled, and through the phone you could hear the hiss of a snake.

He only ever made a hissing noise when he was terribly angry, so the fact that you were being threatened wasn't a good sign.

You turned to look back at the car that was in perfect shape and laughed a little. 

"Oh, yeah, no... the car... the car is fine."

You wanted to make a joke about the car being submerged in the lake or scattered in a million tiny pieces just to get a ruse out of your father, but now was no time for jokes. 

"Oh, for fucks sake, good. Look, drive home and we'll talk about it, okay?" your father replied. 

In your mind, you could already imagine him running his hand through his hair in relief, but your breath hitched in your throat. 

You don't want to go home.

"Wait."

You don't want to talk about it.

"Father... Papa..."

All you want to do is cry.

"Come meet me at St. James' Park instead, please."

Before they can reply, you hang up the phone. 

Hugging yourself, you feel your wings begin to push and force their way out of your back, originating at your shoulder-blades.

For some odd reason, it didn't hurt.

Your heart is already hurting enough as it is.


It took them a good ten minutes or so to fly to St. James' Park, but they had to stay hidden amongst the clouds to ensure no humans would see them.

Once they arrived, they knew you were worse for wear.

The Bentley was safe and sound just as you said, but Crowley could worry about that later.

You were not... alright.

Not in the slightest.

Your breathing was shaky, yet you did not move.

Your wings however, moved sporadically, like they wanted to be used, but you were grounded to the bench.

Your e/c snake-eyes were visible and staring wide-eyed at the ground.

Your had smashed your tinted glasses in a fit of rage.

Your father picked up the broken shards of your glasses and flapped his black wings. They were always so intense.

"It's alright, Y/n. We can buy you new glasses." He said, caressing your hair.

This caused your body to flinch involuntarily, and Crowley took a step back. "Sorry for startling you, Y/n."

"Y/n, our dearest? Our little one?" Your papa tried, reaching his arms out to touch you.

For some odd reason, your body didn't let you respond.

Your mind kept telling you to hug him, tell him you just wanted to go home, but you couldn't.

Your father's white wings twitched in the cool night air, and your eyes couldn't help but look up and stare.

He was always so kind, so thoughtful, so... bright.

Why did he have to get stuck with a child such as yourself?

"I don't want new glasses... I don't want anything." you mumbled, more to yourself than anything.

Your papa sat next to you, to your right, and folded his hands on his lap. "There's got to be something you want. If you speak, we'll listen."

Your father sat on the opposite side, to your left, and slouched.

He still had the broken glasses in his hand, and wondered how and why you broke a possession you've protected since you were a child.

Choking back a sob, your eyes begin to well with tears again and mouth curls into a frown.

"Why did I have to be born a hybrid? Why couldn't I have just been born an angel or a demon? Why..." You hesitated saying the last part, but you spoke without really meaning to. "...Why was I born at all?"

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other in disbelief. Even after everything you've been through as a family, even after raising you the way they did, they realized you weren't entirely happy.

Granted, you weren't human, not in the slightest, but you never got to enjoy your childhood, and they caused it.

You were almost grown up, and yet they still treated you like their little angel. Their little devil. 

Their little one.

Your father tried to find something to say to you that would potentially make everything better. 

All he wanted to do was gather you up in his arms, tell you everything would be alright, and hoped Aziraphale would do the same, and praise you for finally telling the truth of your unhappiness.

Your papa let you cry a little bit longer before trying to calm you down, but he hated to see you cry.

You were always this happy-go-lucky child, so carefree and curious about the world around you, and now here you were, crying on a bench in the middle of the night.

Your papa said, "Well, Y/n, you were born because Crowley and I loved each other. We loved each other so much that we wanted to have a child, but we knew we couldn't have adopted a human, it would have been heartbreaking to live longer than them..."

His sentence trailed and you sniffled. You didn't bother to say anything, so all you could do was listen.

"So, your father and I got to talking," Your papa held your hand as he stared at your father, who in turn, held your other hand with an awkward smile on his face, "and after very careful planning, and lots and lots of hope, you were brought into the world. And do you know what?" 

Your glassy eyes met with your papa's blue ones, and he used his other hand to wipe away your tears. "We thought you were the most beautiful, most precious thing we had ever had laid eyes on. It didn't matter if you were born a demon or an angel. What matters, is that you are you. Y/n, you don't need to choose a side because... you are on our side. That is what matters most."

Your father replied, "He's right. In our eyes, we don't see you as a hybrid. We see you as our child. You are Y/n, and we love you." 

Their words broke you out of that trance-like state you were under, and your wings stopped twitching.

"...Really?"

Your papa nodded. "It's too late to change the past now, but you can always make a brighter future. Live the way you want to live it, and we'll be there to cheer you on every step of the way."

Your father nudged you in the shoulder. "But next time, make sure to tell us where you're going before you decide to run off in the Bentley, please."

The three of you shared a laugh, but Crowley was the loudest.

You had started to feel better, but your heart still stung.


It took a lot of convincing and a lot of begging to allow you to get to know a human enough to be their friend, let alone find one to be your significant other (which also meant you would need to tell them your secret of being a Nephilim), but that would wait until you're much older.

But on the bright side, you no longer wore tinted sunglasses.

However, there was a human that caught your eye.

Her hair was black and fluffy, and each and every time you saw her walk into the door, she would fix her messy bobbed hair.

A woolen green beret was atop her head as well, and matched perfectly with her stylish tan trench coat. 

At her knees, you saw a dress decorated with flowers, so she wore the trench coat to keep herself warm.

You hadn't seen the color of her eyes yet, and you would always make a point to at least try to figure it out, but your papa would always get in the way and asked if she needed help finding anything.

The young girl seemed to be about your "age", so that was an added bonus. 

She always made a point to visit the bookshop when she had time and scoured the shelves of books for one she liked but could never buy, since your papa made a point to keep his books safe.

You tried asking him if he thought of turning the bookshop into a library, but he politely declined.

A bookshop seemed more likely to be in this area, he said.

On a chilly, rainy, and early Autumn morning, when you were working in the bookshop behind the counter with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, you saw her happily open the door and step inside with a shiver.

She shook her flowery umbrella onto the side walk and closed it, then put it in an umbrella holder near the door.

Aside from your father and your papa in the other part of the bookshop, it was just you and her. 

You didn't know what to do.

"London is certainly cold in the mornings, no?" She laughed as she walked around the shop as usual. 

"Oh my," you thought, "She has a French accent... Her voice is like honey."

You broke out of your daze, and noticed your heartbeat had started to quicken. 

"Oh, uh, yes, yes it is. Feel free to look around, by the way." 

You hoped your voice didn't shake from being too nervous.

"Oh! I was actually hoping you could help me find a book!" She asked, and her head suddenly poked out from behind a shelf.

"Of course, right away, ma'am."

Her smile turned into bubbly laughter. 

Blushing only slightly, you followed her to where she was and awkwardly stood beside her as her body and eyes moved to-and-fro between shelves. 

She was certainly adamant to find whatever she was looking for, but you only stood there watching her.

"Was there a particular book you were looking for, ma'am?" You asked as she scoured the shelves, not once, but twice.

Your eyes locked together. 

Her eyes were emerald green. 

Your heart skipped a beat again as a smile adorned her lips.

"It makes me feel old if you call me ma'am." She pat you on the shoulder and took a closer look into your eyes.

You expected her to call your eyes "strange" or "unnerving", like if she blinked for one second you would disappear like a monster.

But she didn't.

"Your eyes are very lovely-"

"Y/n! My name is Y/n. My papa and father own this shop. Now, what book are you looking for?" 

"Well, I had seen it when I was younger, but I'm not entirely certain it is still here. It is titled The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales."

Your eyes widened and your mouth almost went agape. "I used to read that book all the time when I was younger!"

In a way, the girl was mesmerized by your snake-eyes, and she smiled back to you, now realizing you both enjoyed the same book.

"Je n'ai jamais vu des yeux aussi beaux que les tiens." She whispered to herself, almost caressing your cheek.

"P-Pardon?" You ask, and she abruptly pulls away.

"O-Oh, where are my manners? My name is Erise, Erise Blaker. Let's find this book, shall we? Then, maybe we can read it together... Y/n."

Your name rolls off her tongue just like honey.

For the first time in your life, you potentially found a true friend.


*Je n'ai jamais vu des yeux aussi beaux que les tiens. = I have never seen eyes as beautiful as yours.