HE WHO SERVES BEHIND THE TRONE.

   his hands slip into the pockets of his trousers,  as though he’s cold.  there’s a truth concealed there,  though.  and it is,  as always,  cruel.  god used to be warm,  and bright,  and all things golden would appear unworthy and rusty in comparison to a sheer flash of memory passing before the scribe’s eyes.  eloa,  however,  feels ethereally cold.  not without a sting of satisfaction,  metatron thinks he can’t forgive that of her.   forgiveness is god’s realm.

   the library is quiet,  not open for business. he had come thinking he would meet with the insufferable winchester brothers,  and was instead met with a face,  metaphorically speaking for the one beyond the muscles and bone,  he’d not seen in a biblically long time.  he doesn’t face her.  he lets his eyes glide over the titles,  enraptured in the mystery of the few ones he’s never heard.

   ‘  i always found the idea of you siding with lucifer very funny,  you know.  given your ... nature.  but i take you found back some of the common sense you lost,  eloa.  is that why you’re working with those two now?  ’