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November the 16th, year 1793
Dearest Diary,
My deepest apologies for the late entry, I’ve been unable to update you about my recent events, because of… well, imprisonment. I’ve always found France to be a quaint little country I could escape to. But it appears I’ve been out of the loop as one might say, on the state of things here. All I simply wished to do was locate a good crepe! To enjoy France’s many delightful delicacies!
It appears the humans here are in some sort of civil dispute over taxes, or their involvement in war with the Americans, something of that nature. After eons of existence, I’ve grown tired of human affairs. I do quite enjoy their creations, however, books, food, drink, and other sorts I rather take pleasure in.
Oh goodness, I’ve lost my train of thought again. Oh! Right. Imprisonment.
Popping into Paris for a little sweet treat is a crime these days I supposed. Well of course that isn’t what I was arrested for, some of the locals suspected me to be an aristocrat, and was to be sentenced to guillotine. As I sat in my cell, it gave me some time to contemplate. It made me think of how terrible this would be if I were human, while these thoughts ran through my head I could hear the sound of heads being separated from their bodies. Traitors to the revolution, aristocrats, and the wealthy were being lined up for their punishment, and I was next in the queue.
I’ve thought quite a bit about the difference between good and evil for some time now and can admit I do understand why they are revolting, hunger is no easy struggle, but it was just dreadful to see all these lives being taken right before my eyes. I heard the sound of keys jingling from outside of the cell, followed by the lock turning. It was one of the jailors responsible for my arrest. He was very tall, with a beard that took up around a third of his face, he was adorned in red, a very appropriate color for the revolution I’d say. “Il est temps d'y aller” he spoke while attaching the ring of keys to his belt. I do have a passion for all things learning, especially language arts, but as of late my French has been quite rusty I’m afraid. I tried my hardest to recall my studies in the French language guide I owned that I kept with all my other books, but could only seem to recall a couple of phrases. I managed to get out “s'il te plaît, um…don’t kill me, monsieur.”
Embarrassing.
The man looked at me with a look of distaste for a moment. “You do know I speak English as well, oui?” My face began to redden with humiliation, I mean what was I thinking trying to speak my capture’s native tongue? I cleared my throat, “No my good sir, I was not aware of that.” He gave me another sideways glance and stepped towards me to unlock my cuffs from the floor, “Alright Englishman, I’ll take you upstairs where you’ll then be sent to the guillotine and-” he froze. Not just his words but his whole body had stopped, as well as the ruckus of the crowds outside. I was confused for a moment until I saw a glimpse of the bright red hair behind my jailor. “You know Angel, I never took you for one to have a criminal record. I suppose you're just full of surprises.”
Crowley.
I’m lucky I had the man standing in front of me to hide my expression, I had a difficult time trying to contain my smile at the sound of his voice, but I composed myself and stepped to the side to face him. “Crowley,” I remarked. “Good Lord,” I said to him disapprovingly. I glanced at his dark outfit, a red overcoat with black underneath. Red was always a good color on him. Crowley was always more involved with human matters than I ever was, he’s quite the professional when it comes to anarchy, protests, speaking against higher powers, freedom, and such. So it’s no wonder he was here during this time in France. “Why have you come here at such a chaotic time?” He lay sprawled out on the stone bench against the wall. “To get you out.” I looked down at my hands to see my cuffs and chains had disappeared, I rubbed my sore wrists, now free from the restraints. “Thank you.”
“Why else?” Crowley spoke.
“Why else what?”
“Why else did you think I would be here?” he sat up to look at me threw his tinted glasses.
“Oh I don’t know, I figured you’d love all of this. Beheading, killing, burning buildings, overthrowing government powers!” I said with a gusto.
“Demon things?” Crowley asked me. “Why…yes,” I responded hesitantly. He seemed to disapprove of this response. He rose from his seat to stand and leaned up against the door behind him.
“Weren’t you opening a bookshop? How’d you end up here anyways?”
“Yes. And I got peckish.”
“Peckish?”
“I was craving some crepes, can’t find good ones anywhere.”
“So you come to Paris in the middle of an uprising.”
“I didn’t know!” I exclaimed.
“It’s just absurd what they are doing here.” I commented on the beheadings, “Animals.”
“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines angel, only humans do that,” Crowley stated while staring at the guillotine outside the cell window. I was rendered speechless at this comment, and the intensity it filled the air with. “ I must admit, it’s nice to see you again after such a long time, I do wish it were under different circumstances.” Crowley looked at me with no readable emotion on his face, which confused me even more so of his arrival here. He must have wanted to see me. I know I wished to see him. We hadn’t talked since Shakespeare’s production of Hamlet in 1601, I’m afraid to say I missed his company, our conversations, and his garish outfits that attracted everyone’s attention when he entered a room. I missed him.
Oh dear, sorry to cut this entry short but Crowley's just suggested we go for crepes. Until my next entry!
Sincerely, Aziraphale