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Chapter Eight

Ocean

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The lack of focus and the bouts of dizziness had long gone, but things most definitely had not improved. Aziraphale didn't think he could take it much longer.

Over time, the ache in his heart and the feeling of missing something had grown exponentially. Now, it felt like he was being stabbed at every step, and as though he was constantly being sliced in half, right down the middle. This pain was much more ancient, he knew, than the day he'd seen that third mirror. It had always been there, but it had been hopelessly buried under mountains of madness, far beyond his ability to feel. And he still didn't know what it was all about!

There was a strange rushing sound in his ears. It had been there for hours now, getting stronger and stronger. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Still, he didn't mind. It was oddly soothing for some reason.

There was a rather steep-looking hill in front of him. He thought of going around it, but it stretched on left and right, as far as the eye could see. He had no choice but to climb.

With great difficulty, he scaled it, regularly sliding back downward as the flour-fine black sand gave under his hands and feet. When he finally reached the top, he remained on his hands and knees for a moment to catch his breath. Then he got to his feet, brushed himself off, looked up...

...and stood entirely transfixed.

He had expected, quite naturally, to see the vast expanse of sand that he'd grown accustomed to over the centuries, with countless stars shining above. Instead, he now found himself looking out over an endless ocean, with little waves lapping against the shore.

When, after a long time, the shock began to abate, it was replaced by a sudden, frantic desire to get down there. Aziraphale had no idea where it came from, but he could not ignore it, not for a second.

Half running, half falling, he raced down the slope, cleared the distance between the foot of the hill and the surf in record time, and knelt down right at the water's edge, knees a mere inch from getting wet.

For a long while, he made no further move, simply studying the water with an intensity of interest that he hadn't felt in ages, if ever. Truly, it was maddening. The colour of the water, that particular shade of grey... Oh, he knew it was connected to something, something so immensely important that his mind could never hope to grasp it, and yet he couldn't recall what it was, no matter how hard he tried. What was the matter with him?

Eventually, he shrugged, shook his head, and decided to give up. It seemed that, however many things he'd grown to understand over the years, the most important thing, whatever it was, would always remain hidden. Would he, then, never get out of this place?

He sighed and, on impulse, dipped his hands in the water. He frowned. Hmmm. That was strange. He would have expected it to be cold, like seawater normally was, but it was actually rather warm, the same temperature as his hands, perhaps even a little warmer. He cupped his hands, and brought some of the water up to his mouth, to take a sip. More and more curious. It was salty, yes, but not nearly as much as it should... have...

Oh.

Oh no.

It hit him then. Hit him like a fist to the gut, like a knife to the chest. The veil had been torn away at last from his innermost mind, from his innermost heart, and now he knew, with devastating, mind-shattering clarity, with hideous, searing sanity, what that colour signified.

Eyes. A pair of eyes.

He recognised the pain now, well enough.

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All was peaceful and tranquil, glittering and calm. The fine, never-stirring sands, the velvety blackness of the sky, the milky brightness of the stars, the gentle stir of the waves.

All was peaceful and tranquil, save for a single, wild figure on its knees, shrieking and raving up at the unmoved, unmoving heavens.

"Give me back! Give me back, I tell you, back! Take me home, home to him! Oh God, can't you see what's happening? Look at this, just look at this! How many more tears must he shed? Take me back, I say!"

He couldn't take this anymore. He sprang to his feet, cried out at the top of his lungs, loud enough to reach to the other side of the ocean, calling a name that hadn't passed his lips in aeons.

"Caphriel! Angel! Listen to me, listen to my voice! I love you, Caphriel, I love you! My angel! Beloved! I'm coming back, Caphriel, they can't keep me away! Hold on, and remember that I love you! Caphriel!"

He stopped, panting, throat burning sore. He looked around. Peace and tranquility, everywhere, in all directions.

He screamed the scream of nightmare.

At this moment it began to rain.

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Steady as a pillar, Azrael stood atop the hill, watching it all. Without looking, he plucked a circle of black string, with no beginning and no end, beautiful as a starless winter's night seen from the warmth of a fire, from the air in front of him, and peered at it closely. He nodded. Already it was starting. As, and he turned his eyeless gaze to the piece of white string in his other hand, as was the case for the other.

Looking away from the strings and down at the half-mad figure below him, howling and weeping, tears and fists bruising the sand, Azrael nodded again. It wouldn't be much longer now.