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The scarf had been a gift from Crowley some time ago, given with an awkward stammer and the usual utter refusal to be thanked. It was clearly custom-designed — although Aziraphale had never been sure if it had been handmade, purchased, or simply miracled from raw firmament.
Whatever its origin story, however, the fabric of the scarf was red, black, and patterned to look very much like a snake. Complete with a pair of beady yellow eyes on one end.
Aziraphale stroked the cashmere garment as he tied it snugly around his neck, then checked himself in the mirror. It wasn’t at all the sort of thing he usually wore; it was completely out of his keeping with his usual stylish tartan.
But somehow, with the warmth of love about his neck and the reminder of another red-and-black snake every time he happened to glance at his reflection, he didn’t mind.