Chapter : Her ([fr] Elle)
As usual, the corridors and halls were full of people : young artists drawing on their notebooks, unbearable children, tired school groups, cultured families. Among them, Aziraphale walked slowly (or gambled freely), his eyes full of stars. He stopped in front of each work, each painting. He stopped in amazement.
Right behind the angel, Crowley was, dragging his feet, hands in his pockets, dismayed. It seemed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, so soft was his attitude.
« Angel, when you told me we were going on a trip to Paris, I was hoping for something more... romantic. »
The angel turned perplexed.
« But the Louvre is one of the most visited museums in the world : it's incredible ! In addition, there is currently a reconstruction of the most famous frescoes. »
Crowley could have kept dragging his feet, making that sulky pout, but when he saw his angel's dazzling smile, he smiled too. And he agreed to continue the visit.
And then Crowely crashed into Aziraphale. Though he faced a thousand torments, the sharp pain in his nose was unbearable.
« Damn, why did you stop…. » the angry voice vanished as the golden eyes rose to contemplate his companion frozen in front of one of the reconstructed frescoes.
Aziraphale was completely motionless, his face stuck in a strange expression. For a moment, the demon thought that Heaven or Hell had come to settle the score one last time. Then, he decided to raise his look at the work that had sucked up his entire partner's attention.
It was Michelangelo's Creation of Adam.
Crowley also froze when he saw the mortal's representation of God. He could also have frozen in front of Adam’s representation and the spiritual appearance of Eve, but... the representation of God completely froze them.
« My dear, tell me it's not... Her. »
« I think, alas, that Her. »
The two celestial beings stared at each other before bursting out laughing.
The visitors around them were startled and one of the museum guards shot them with their dark eyes.
The glasses of wine tinkled against each other as their laughter resonated together.
Crowley couldn't stop laughing and even if Aziraphale could, he had a big smile painted on his chubby cheeks.
« Please calm down, sweetheart, » said the angel smiling stupidly at Crowley's crystalline laughter like a child's light in the adult night.
« But, by the Hellfire ! I had the strangest images of Her. »
Many times before, he had imagined Her dresses in a suit like all the other angels, but then imagining the creator of the world as an old bearded man was one of the best ideas he had ever seen. Her… She's... so beautiful.
Crowley remembered that beauty. It was the last thing he saw before he fell.
Raphael gazed at his graceful mother in Her cloud robe and sparkling jewels made of stars. Her hair colored with nebulae and other wonders of the universe. So lightweight as a bird in an infinite sky. And Her smile...
The golden glow fades at the thought. The warmth of the angel's skin brought it back. Crowley smiled in turn.
His Mother was complicated, but he could never have imagined otherwise.
« But seriously ! An elderly white-bearded man ! »
« You're still going to speak about that ?! »