"There," he says, "the walls - well, never mind the walls. But when you got away from them, it was... big."

Crowley reaches over a little, bringing the flame closer to Raguel's face - close enough for the angel to feel what little warmth there is from it, but mostly, mainly, close enough that its glow fills his field of vision.

His voice sounds detached, distracted; sounding out the words carefully so as to be sure of their meaning.

"Dark, so you couldn't see anything, and big enough that I couldn't see anything. For... forever, you know? And cold."



With a click, Crowley flips the top down on the last, lonely flicker of light, and life, and warmth.

Like this, he doesn't need to say.

Big, and dark, and cold.