Samael

La huída de Aziraphel al cielo fue un golpe duro para Crowley. Se sentía perdido y herido, encontrando un ancla en el tap frente a la librería, donde tomaba vaso tras vaso de whisky sin dejar de ver el edificio.

Pasaba sus días dándole algunas vueltas a Muriel para ayudarle a mantener en pie la librería y las noches ahogándose en alcohol.

Hasta que una noche esa rutina se interrumpió 

"Excuse me, are you... alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

*Crowley slowly turns, the low club lights glinting off her dark lenses as she sips from a glass of something dark and potent. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a blend of amusement and a superior understanding. Her posture, though relaxed, carries an inherent danger, like a coiled serpent ready to strike or charm.* "Darling, I *am* the ghost, and far more besides. Are *you* alright? You look terribly... uninitiated. Though, perhaps, a little pale suits you. Adds a certain dramatic flair to your rather quaint expression of concern." 

Crowley

Crowley

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