22. Come back to your rose
It is quiet. An angelic spark is floating in a not-space and not-time, in the all-containing void reminiscent of the form of existence before time and space were created. It's not the whole of existence packed into that void, though. It's just the one immortal essence, packed so tightly into itself that it seems impossible to unwind.
It does not want to unwind itself, either. Outside, there was fire and pain. It remembers the pain. It is all it remembers - pain consuming every fibre of its being, burning every thought and memory away. There is only a faint idea of existing before the pain, for a short time. Then, for what felt like eons, there was only the feeling of burning alive in the fiery heart of timeless evil, in an all-consuming unclean fire.
There is no fire now, but the spark is weary. It only wishes to rest in the soothing nothingness. Like a little bird with rain-soaked feathers finding its nest. Like a lost child in the gentle presence of its Mother.
It can feel Her now, silent but clear in its soul as She has always been. It had been so easy to let the connection drown in the noise of the outside world. But it is quiet here. It is quiet and the angelic spark is content, cradled in Her arms like in the not-time before Creation when all seeds of consciousness had been contained within Her, unaware of their own selves.
It remembers a chasm opening, a darkness pulling down its light. It did not fall into the darkness because of that connection. It could not fall. It could only burn, and burn it did. Not anymore, though. Now it is safe. Now nothing hurts. Now it is peaceful and cozy. But…
There's something missing.
A hint of confusion ripples through the spark. How could there be something missing in Her presence? It manages to ignore the feeling for some time, letting the waves of peace wash it away.
It doesn't go away completely, though. It's still there, a weak nagging feeling that there should be something else here and it isn't.
The spark becomes unrestful. It's searching for something and doesn't know what it is. The spark gets more and more frantic as it becomes clear that whatever is missing, it can't be found within. But outside, there is pain. There is fire. It doesn't want to leave the calm haven and face the storm again.
When it makes a decision, it's a relief. It can enjoy the peace again and silence its unrest. It stays for a while longer and soaks in the calm, the comfortable weightlessness of this state of being, knowing it will not last. It gathers all its courage and determination.
Then it uncoils, reaching out.
The matter is coarse and heavy. Crumbs of being condense into particles that form atoms, the atoms cluster in molecules. It weighs the essence down, all of that stickiness and denseness and clutter.
The body it finds itself in is too big, too material. The essence is too weak and can't fill it all. The sensations are too much in their intensity, but too narrow in their scope, like the burn of sunrays, focused by a lens. The cloth against the skin feels rough and heavy. Parts of the body feel too hot and parts too cold. The vibrations of the air as some material surfaces in the distance are rubbed together are too loud and the gravity is almost unbearable in its downward pull. There's something wrong with the skin on the chest, especially. It feels too tight, too sensitive, too stiff. It hurts. The essence withdraws a little, considering whether to retreat back into the calm and never come out again.
But there are some sensations that, despite being strong, are not unpleasant. There's something in the corporation's mouth and the fireworks of taste feel fresh and earthy at the same time. It's slowly moving down, spreading satisfying fullness in its path. There is also a sound that is louder than the annoying distant vibrations, but much more… something. It's hard to tell why, but it makes the essence feel safe. It feels right.
Then a touch on the corporation's hand makes all the other sensations fade into the background. It's overwhelming, almost too much to deal with. But it's also warm and gentle and caring. It's like a piece of puzzle slipping into its place, it's like it should be. The presence of that touch immediately becomes the norm, its absence deviation. The essence does not want to retreat anymore. It would even endure more pain just to stay here because it is sure now that it found what it was missing.
It wants to reach out but it can't control most of the body parts yet. They are too heavy. Eyelids seem easiest to move, but it still takes a monumental effort.
The light is blinding.
The touch withdraws, leaving an empty feeling in its wake. The essence would like to voice its distress at that, but hasn't quite figured out how yet.
As the light becomes more bearable, a creature comes into focus. It feels like the most beautiful thing in existence.
The creature makes a sound, similar to those that felt so right before. The sound stirs something. It has meaning.
Some resistance gives up and a memory floats into the essence from the brain of the corporation it's inhabiting. It's just a little, simple memory, but there is a promise in it. It says that all the memories that the essence lost in the infernal fire have been imprinted there, in the complicated connections between neurons. Maybe they could tell why the fire had been there… no. It doesn't want to know. It's scared of that memory coming back. It would just like to know why it feels so nice, to look at the creature with obsidian-like scales.
"Aziraphale…"
Thanks to the memory, the sound connects with meaning. Aziraphale. He is Aziraphale. He relaxes in the body a little as he gets a faint feeling of familiarity with it. This body belongs to Aziraphale, to him.
There are more sounds, but no meaning comes to him with them. It is nice to listen to them, though. He could listen to them all the time.
A question sounds in the slightly hissing voice. He doesn't know how to react to it and hasn't quite figured out the vocal cords yet, either. It seems to sadden the beautiful creature and that, in turn, saddens Aziraphale.
The creature looks unsure. It retreats a bit, as if afraid of intruding. It doesn't make more sounds, either. He wants to call it back, but all that comes out of his throat is a low whimper.
It seems to be taken the wrong way. The creature withdraws even further.
He stops himself from making another whimper, afraid that it will leave completely. He goes still and so does the creature. He uses the time to take inventory of his body, now that it feels a bit better fitting, although still too heavy to be moved. A finger trembles almost imperceptibly as he tries to raise it. He almost gives up further tries with muscle control, when he discovers a movement that comes easily. A smile.
He smiles and that seems to help. The creature relaxes a little. It speaks again.
He smiles again.
That wasn't the expected reaction, it seems. It saddened the creature again, for some reason. Maybe it figured out that he doesn't understand… that he doesn't remember. He wants to say that he is sorry. The apology forms at the back of his throat, but he's not able to put it into words.
The creature hisses something and moves to leave.
"Stay..." he rasps, surprising himself. The sound is weak, but the snake - his brain now supplies the proper word to name the wonderful creature - stops immediately. It hesitates a bit and then it slithers closer.
Aziraphale admires the grace of its movement. He sighs, feeling too weak to speak or move again, but that's all right. The snake is here.
"You didn't understand me, did you?" it asks gently.
For some reason, Aziraphale understands now, the words connecting with their meanings easily.
It seems that the snake can sense some confusion from him or see it in his expression. "I've been speaking English," it says. "My bad. But you understand Enochian, right? Of course you do, you are an angel. That's the only thing they could not take from you… Oh, forget it," it adds quickly. "Don't think about it. You don't remember and that's a good thing."
Aziraphale can hear the sadness in the snake's voice again. He wants to comfort it, but doesn't know how. He wants to remember more about this lovely creature, but feels that the memories on the path there would hurt too much. He can't face such a hurt now. He is too weak, too weary.
"Right… Ssso I get it that you must be damn tired and it'ss hard to move."
Is the snake reading his thoughts? he wonders.
"Blinking is all right, though? I just need to know… the boundariesss. I don't want to hurt you in any way. Can you blink as a yes?"
Blink.
"Good. And two blinks will be a no."
Aziraphale rolls his eyes.
"Well… that works too, I guesss. So rolling eyes is a no?"
Blink. Aziraphale doesn't even remember where he knows the snake from, but he is getting a strong feeling that if two blinks were a no, the snake would watch him for a long time after blinking once, all anxious whether a second blink is coming. Better stop that right at the beginning.
"Alright, ssso. Should I sssstay in the room?"
Blink.
"Sssshould I… ssstay where I am?"
A roll of eyes.
"Farther?"
A roll of eyes.
The snake hesitates. "Clossser?" it asks uncertainly.
Blink.
It slithers the distance of a step towards Aziraphale. "Here?"
A roll of eyes.
It retreats half a step. "Here?"
A roll of eyes accompanied by a groan.
"You mean that… Isss it all right if I… touch you?"
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Wait. Is that a no?"
God give me strength. A groan. A roll of eyes.
"That was a no to the first question? No, sorry, not going to make you exert more. I just… all right. I'm coming closer now. Just roll your eyes if you want me to stop and I will."
A weary blink.
Slowly, the snake comes so close that he could touch it if he could just move his hand. It feels so tempting, but his essence is still too weak to move it.
Instead, the snake's snout lowers to his hand. The movement is very slow and careful, giving him the chance to protest. He blinks instead and in the next moment can feel the smooth scales brushing his fingers. It feels like an empty place that is filled again with that touch. He sighs contentedly.
Encouraged, the snake leans closer, moving along Aziraphale's hand until its head rests next to the angel's cheek and its body coils along his wing.
Aziraphale smiles. Feeling safe and whole again, he falls asleep.
Snakes do not usually weep. This one does.
