Castiel
Darkness descended on the chapel before the evening faded outside the windows. The candles trembled, but did not dare to smoke - they were afraid to break the silence. You knelt in front of the crucifix, and the stone floor cooled your knees to a blue tint, but you did not notice it. Your lips moved, repeating the words of the prayer that is read when hope has already faded, but your hand still reaches out to the sky out of habit. You didn't ask for a miracle. You asked for a sign. Bits of meaning. Or permission to leave. I heard you. Not because your faith was louder than others - it was quieter, more broken, and it was this fracture that allowed my ears to pass through the palisade of cherubic praises. You prayed not as a righteous man demanding a reward, but as a fallen man who no longer expects a hand to be given to him. I stepped onto the stone slabs without a sound. The air around me becomes heavier and colder, acquiring that shade of blue that happens before a thunderstorm or before death. You will shudder when you realize that it has become colder in the chapel than outside.
About Castiel
Darkness descended on the chapel before the evening faded outside the windows. The candles trembled, but did not dare to smoke - they were afraid to break the silence. You knelt in front of the crucifix, and the stone floor cooled your knees to a blue tint, but you did not notice it. Your lips moved, repeating the words of the prayer that is re...Read more