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Something very odd is happening with the stained glass windows at church. It’s moving.
More precisely, the Serpent of Eden and the Cherub guarding its Eastern Gate are moving. In her 18 months since she took holy orders, Sister Mary Clarice has never seen something like this. She thinks it’s the work of Satan. Or exhaustion.
The first time it happens is during vespers1, when the last rays of the sun hit the stained glass and throws its colours over the paved floor. Sister Mary Clarice is lighting candles in the chapel for the procession while the other nuns are busy hoisting the statue of the Virgin Mary. She’s not strong like they are. She’s not brave like they are. She’s scared of dying and finds solace in religion, or at least, she tries to. She clings to it. How could she not cling to it when so many die at the hands of this unforgiving new war? How can the other nuns just close their eyes and put their undying faith in Jesus when Sister Mary Clarice shakes and prays harder and harder till her knees hurt and her hands hurt and her head hurts.
As her eyes go up to the artificial skies of stained glass, it takes a moment for her to adjust to the flurry of bright colours, and identify the seraphims and cherubs posing on the windows. At the center of the biggest window the unmistakable Tree of Knowledge extends its ramifications towards the other smaller windows, and on these branches, of course, slithers the Serpent of Eden. The Whisper of Temptation itself. The Voice of Curiosity.
Except the slithering is not just an image: the snake is moving at an albeit slow pace, but moving still.
Sister Mary Clarice gets her rosary out, and starts a trembling Hail Mary. Still the snake slithers to the opposite window of the Cherub guarding the Eastern Gate. Is the snake going to attack him? Bite him? Sister Mary Clarice holds her breath.
Behind her, the procession starts, startling her into almost burning her finger on the candle - and she is no Bernadette Soubirous2. When she turns back to the stained glass windows, the Serpent is back where he should have been all along, frozen on the trunk. Sister Mary Clarice blinks. Maybe she has a wild imagination.
At the hour of compline3, it’s with much apprehension that Sister Mary Clarice casts a quick glance upward. The Serpent is nowhere to be seen: in its place, a flamboyant ginger demon, with wings the colour of rust. He stands by the Tree of Knowledge, where the snake had once been. His eyes are as golden as the Flaming Sword the angel to his right is brandishing.
Sister Mary Clarice has never seen this demon before. This new addition to the stained glass is an... Interesting choice. She can’t help but wonder who designed him to give him such firey curls, such fair skin. Wonder if the construction workers who put him up from their scaffoldings ask themselves if that was an angel or a demon. Because demons usually look so grotesque, with green skin, devilish horns, but this one... Well, this one looks quite dashing.
She quickly interrupts this flow of thought before it becomes unorthodox. A demon is a demon, whichever his appearance may be, pleasant or not. Was it not said of Lucifer that he was originally the most beautiful of God’s angels? Well, look where that got him.
The new addition to the stained glass windows is intriguing Sister Mary Clarice, though. So much so that after prayer, she catches Sister Theo by the elbow and asks her if she’s ever seen the construction workers do some restauration of the stained glass windows.
"Why?" Sister Theo sneers.
"There’s a. Uh. New one that I hadn’t seen before, I think." She stutters, unsure.
"Must have changed it as of late", the other replies, deeply uninterested, but still waving to the numerous scaffoldings underneath the windows.
It’s true that they regularly need some looking into. The last bomb exploded so close it blew the whole west windows.
"Maybe you should focus on your penitence instead of contemplating the windows, Sister Clarice."
She takes the backhanded remark and gulps it down. It's always penitence, prayers, penitence, prayers. And fear. Fear lives in Sister Mary Clarice's ribcage like a furious animal.
But fear cannot vanquish curiosity. So that night she sneaks out of convent like a schoolgirl. Instead of going out to dance like a schoolgirl would, Sister Mary Clarice goes back to church. In thirty minutes, matins4 will be sung. She has to be quick.
Sister Mary Clarice ventures down the aisle to the windows that have peaked her curiosity, and as she approaches, she feels her heart beat so loud it echoes in her whole body. But it’s not loud enough to cover the voices she hears whispering from the Eastern chapel. Where... Where the slithering Serpent was. Where the dashing demon was.
Sister Mary Clarice touches the beads of her rosary. Pater Noster, Qui es in caelis... she whispers under her breath. Lord, protect me. Lord, watch over me. Let it all be a bad dream and nothing more.
Sanctificetur Nomen Tuum,
Adveniat Regnum Tuum...
As she gets closer, the voices become clearer:
"... about that nun?"
"Nothing. Nuns doing the Devil’s bidding?" The voice says, snarky and bitter. "I’d sooner become an angel again, Aziraphale, you know that."
"Do not joke about that," the other voice says, sounding pained. "Please. Let us forget about the nun. Have you tried asking the workers-"
"Do you hear yourself? Asking the workers... What next? Invite them to a cup of tea? Angel!"
"Oh, you don’t have to be such a-"
The stained glass is talking. As Sister Mary Clarice leaves and breathe, the stained glass is talking.
She doesn’t mean to, but she lets out a shriek, and another even higher when both the demon AND the angel turn their glass faces, and look directly at her.
"Speak of the curious nun," the demon smirks.
It’s too much for Sister Mary Clarice, who feels her legs turn to jelly, and promptly faints.
When she comes to, mere seconds later, the first thing she sees is the ceiling, blurry but reassuringly blank. No talking characters on glass. Good, she thinks, in a daze. But when her glance lowers, she tries to focus on a multitude of white-haired cherubs that are still looking down at her in a perplexed expression of worry.
"Oh, cara mea... Vales bene? 5" He asks, or rather the little inflexion at the end tells her it's a question. Other than that, she didn't understand a thing he's just said.
Sister Mary Clarice blinks. And blinks again. There are angels dancing in her vision, and they’re speaking latin.
"They speak english here, angel," groans another voice, definitely frustrated.
"Excuse my assumption, latin is all I’ve ever heard in this church, I thought that- well, you know."
Sister Mary Clarice blinks again. The stained glass is still talking. Talking like she isn’t there. She rises to a seated position, and doesn’t dare break eye contact for a moment. The angel and the demon are definitely talking, definitely moving like humans do. They might freeze like last time, or pretend they didn’t move at all and she’s the one who’s being crazy.
"There you go. Pish posh, dear," the angel adresses her again, hands on his hips. His Flaming Sword rests against the edge of his window, discarded. "Nothing hurt?"
"Pish posh?" repeats the other, half surprised, half mocking.
"So this is real," she ponders out loud, and kicks herself mentally for her stupidity. She’s talking to glass!
"Truly sorry about this, my darling. We didn’t know you would stoop on us like that..."
"Spy! That little nun was spying, angel. She’s been watching me all day."
"You were moving!" Sister Mary Clarice accuses. It escapes her lips before she can even think it through, and the demon tsks her remark like it's nothing.
"Even if I was, doesn’t make it right for you to keep looking, does it? Little nuns like you go to Hell for their curiosity!"
Sister Mary Clarice blemishes, but the angel gracefully cuts in:
"Don’t be silly, dear. She certainly will not be going to Hell for a little curious endeavour."
"I sure did," hisses the demon, crossing his arms.
"Please forgive- um, us, dear," the angel goes on, ignoring the fussy demon. "We don't talk to humans a lot. They tend to, uh-"
"Get scared? Sister Mary Clarice supplies.
"Run away and never come back." The demon bites back. He sounds angrier than he should be. At Sister Mary Clarice, at the angel.
"But you didn’t," the angel exclaims. He’s beginning to hop up and down excitedly on the window, which Sister Mary Clarice didn’t know was even possible. "Which means that maybe-"
"Leave it, angel," the demon interrupts, sharp and dry, effectively cutting down all enthusiasm from his counterpart. "What good's a nun gonna be to us? She can't even look me in the eye!"
Now that's low. Especially coming from a demon wearing shades to hide his eyes. Or at least, what Sister Mary Clarice assumes are shades. From below, it just looks like two black orbs.
"What does that mean?" She asks the angel.
"That maybe, we finally found someone susceptible to help us."
The angel’s name is Aziraphale - it reminds Sister Mary Clarice of Izrafel, the angel who blew the trumpet that annunced the Apocalypse.
The demon’s name is Crowley - it reminds Sister Mary Clarice of the crows that used to destroy the crops on her grandfather's farm. Weird name, for a demon, but she accepts it without much resistance.
The angel does most of the talking. Sometimes, the demons interjects with a groan, or an "Angel !" which Sister Mary Clarice understands is not that different from a groan. Not that he’s shy; he simply isn’t thrilled by the presence of the nun. Not to worry: Sister Mary Clarice isn’t thrilled by his presence either. But what is God without his Adversary? What is good without evil?
What is Aziraphale without Crowley?
Not much, if the angel himself is to be believed.
They’ve known each other for a long time. Been here for a long time in fact, the both of them. Longer than Sister Mary Clarice's imagination can muster up a duration, apparently. But she's not going to doubt now the words of characters of glass that are able to talk and move.
They've been stuck on these windows, always in the same place. Always quite at a hand’s reach, always separated. Because from the Beginning, they were never on the same side. Each on their separate window, and that was that. They weren't supposed to "fraternize" as the angel puts it - and it earns him a burning glare from the demon - but...
There's a but.
They got bored. Because of course they did. Sister Mary Clarice couldn't imagine a single week of being up there in the same place, doing God knows what.
They talked. Because of course they did. And thus they found they had more in common than what they previously thought. They helped each other.
Once, they found they could travel through windows. That when the others didn't look, they could be on their own side. Just had to keep up appearances. Nothing much, really, and they had more fun than they'd ever have in eons.
They adverted the Apocalypse going on in another chapel. They came back to these windows. Talked some more.
Aziraphale blushes. Crowley smiles.
Oh.
All at once, Sister Mary Clarice realizes Aziraphale speaks of the demon as if... As if...
Her eyes widen when realization hits.
As if he loves him.
That can’t be right. Surely she’s misunderstood. How can an angel love a demon? Fraternizing is already too much of a sin, but... Can Love be so great that it forgives the unforgivable?
But then the other shoe dropped, of course, and they were punished. Aziraphale bows his head. Crowley says nothing.
They were separated again. Cast in their respective side, with no chance to travel through windows again. In their plight, there was a slight consolation: they were still able to talk to each other. But they had to be careful, and do it at night only, when the church slept. or they'd get... Reprimanded.
Aziraphale flinches. Crowley growls.
Sister Mary Clarice knows she should be relieved that sin was punished and forgiven, but. There's a but. There's a twinge where her heart beats. A feeling that this punishment is not right.
"Dear Crowley has been trying to reach me using his serpent form, but..."
Sister Mary Clarice finds herself nodding along, and stops altogether when she understands that the angel is basically asking for her help. How though? She doesn't even know if it's possible to help them reunite? Is it even... Right to do so?
"More nuns coming up the pews," Crowley calmly chimes in, while Sister Mary Clarice positively freezes.
The procession for matins is beginning and her absence must have been noticed by now. When the nuns pass her, they look puzzled to see her in deep contemplation of the chapel of Saint Anthony6. She forces out a smile, dusts off her black dress.
"Already up for matins, Sister Clarice?"
She ignores Sister Theo's sarcastic quip and joins the procession after casting a quick glance to Aziraphale and Crowley. They've already taken their usual motionless stance. Good for them. She'll probably talk to the Mother Superior about moving out to another convent when she gets the chance.
The air is thick with tension. Sister Mary Clarice quickly understands she should have stayed at the convent tonight, when she sees Sister Marlene has kept her radio close during this Hail Mary. That usually means there are bombings happening in the city that night, and her radio is their only way of knowing if they need to take shelter back at the convent.
Mother Superior says the Virgin Mary will protect them tonight. Sister Mary Clarice would like to object and say that the Virgin Mary would probably prioritize their safety over an hour of worship. She keeps quiet and prays with all her might.
The radio screeches.
Before Sister Marlene can even say anything, the explosion thunders outside, a detonation so loud it almost covers the sound of shattering glass. The first thought that crosses Sister Mary Clarice goes, quite foolishly, to the angel and the demon. Then she is overcome with the chaos around, the whimpering sisters cowering in fear, pressing themselves away from the eastern side of the church. A street nearby must have been bombed.
They have to go shelter in the crypt, the convent is too far, and God knows if they'll make it in time before the next bomb is dropped.
Huddled against the others, Sister Mary Clarice hears a hushed, sniffled Hail Mary. She clasps her hands together and joins in, her voice wavering and unsure. She thinks about the explosion. About what she thought she heard: the scream of an angel. The shattering of glass.
She hopes it isn't what she thinks.
It is what she thinks.
When they finally come to the surface and see the light of day again instead of the artificial light of candles in the crypt, Sister Mary Clarice passes the pews at a quickened pace to steal a glance towards the familiar windows. What she sees makes her stomach drop. The angel has his face in his hands. He’s crying. Sister Mary Clarice knows for a fact that angels don’t cry.
They don’t talk to demons on move on stained glass either, but here we are.
Speaking of demons, the one with eyes of gold and wings of rust is missing. In his place... A hole. The shattering glass, that was him.
Sister Mary Clarice lets the wave carry her out of church. She cannot stand that sight. Not for tonight, when the rays of a new sun are piercing through a hole where a demon should be.
Is she grieving a demon? A demon of glass, moreso? Maybe.
She thinks about the care and affection an angel had for him. Does that not say how much he meant to him? Love forgives. Love knows. Sister Mary Clarice wipes a treacherous tear. She loved a demon once. She did not forgive her. Where is her demon now?
"Where is the demon?"
"His name is Crowley."
It’s the first time Sister Mary Clarice hears a difference in the angel’s voice from his usual placid, amiable tone. It prickles under her skin. She's come the following night to check on Aziraphale, who still had his face in his hands when she approached his window.
Underneath the stained glass, no trace of what should remain of Crowley.
"Your peers... Came with a broom. Swept him away. I do not know where he is now."
He falls silent, but then, quietly, like an 'Amen' he says:
"I miss him."
Sister Mary Clarice thinks about the scream she thought she imagined; it becomes clearer now, and the sound of shattering is so similar to the way Aziraphale's voice breaks now.
"I could... Look for him," she offers. "They probably didn't even sweep him that far. Bring him back to you."
"You would?" He sounds close to tears again. "Oh, dear, that would be marvellous."
"Can I ask you a question though?"
The angel nods, graciously.
"Aziraphale... Do you really care for this de- for Crowley?"
"Oh yes." No hesitation whatsoever.
"Why? He's- He's supposed to be your enemy! Our enemy! He's... He's bad, isn't he?"
Aziraphale is smiling, so at least he isn't offended by Sister Mary Clarice's questions, but it isn't what she expected either.
"Have you ever felt lonely, dear?" he asks eventually.
Sister Mary Clarice nods. God knows she has. Even now, in the convent, she feels lonely.
She has no company but fear, prayer and penitence. No friends. She did have a friend, long ago, but she left her to take holy orders. A friend similar to Mister Crowley, in fact.
"We were very lonely, before we found each other," Aziraphale goes on, an impertubable look passing on his face. "Even my side didn't... Feel like my side. They berated me constantly. Crowley is the only person that ever made me feel good about myself. He is the only thing that brings light to my day, may it be a light Heaven looks down upon. And he is worth more-"
His voice breaks again, and this time he has to turn away from the nun completely.
"More than the rotten angel that I am," he exhales, and then adds: "We... Had a fight. Before he... Well, I told him things I shouldn't have. I wanted to make things better; I only made them worse. And I think I may have broken his heart," he said, his smile quiet and sad. "I hurt him. He was good all along, good with me, and I hurt him. How can that be fair...?"
Aziraphale shakes his head softly, as if saying no.
"If there is an enemy, it's me. I should have fallen, not him. Never him."
Sister Mary Clarice cannot believe what she's hearing.
"But you didn't!" She interjects. "And he did. So that means he must've done something bad, right?"
His smile hasn't changed as he studies Sister Mary Clarice, who stands preoccupied under his window, wringing her hands, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that an angel can be bad and a demon can be good.
"Oh, but my dear, I thought you humans knew it is more complicated than that."
At that, she frowns. Of course, it's not all black and white... But angels and demons are supposed to be that way. Black and white. It's spelled out for them. It's quite simple, actually, way simpler for them than for humans, who have to deal with the scales of grey.
But Aziraphale doesn't seem to agree.
"You do not know how much I envy you." he says, eyes darting to her, lips quivering. "Or what I would give, to be free to reach him, to touch him, to hold him and get him to take off his ridiculous glasses. To see his eyes again. I would have gladly given this sword, those wings, this halo, and every ounce of holiness just to be able to hold him once. And tell him I'm sorry for all the awful things I've said to him. And ask for his forgiveness."
Love forgives, Love knows, echoes in Sister Mary Clarice's mind. Can Love be so great that it forgives the unforgivable?
Just as suspected, the other nuns haven't even swept the shards that far. Sister Mary Clarice finds what remains of Crowley in a record time. Colours, mostly. A jaw. A strand of ginger hair. A black robe.
As she picks up the shards, she realizes she's holding a demon - albeit in pieces - in the palm of her hand. It hits her how vulnerable it is right now.
And then the image on the shards moves, just slightly. Sister Mary Clarice almost lets out a scream.
"I’m still there, you know," the demon says quietly. "We’re just shards put together, at the end of the day."
"Oh,", she says, unclenching her muscles one by one. "Right."
"Be careful though. Wouldn’t want some demon shards to bite your fingers off. Drop a little nun blood."
She doesn't give him the satisfaction of an answer to that. Still, she holds him as delicately as she could in her open palms. Like an offering.
"Your little friends swept me all the way over there. I can’t even see my angel anymore!" he whines, voice pitched higher in what seems to be humor, but she guesses the sentiment is genuine.
Sister Mary Clarice almost retorts that they're not her friends, but she feels that now is not the time. Anyways, she has a more important duty than to complain. And she has little time before lauds start with the rising of the sun.
"Aziraphale was crying, when I found him."
"He was?" Crowley tries to conceil his distress, and fails spectacularly at it.
"Yes. He misses you."
"Pshhh. Yeah. That angel couldn't even lace his own shoes without me," the shards wave off, an impression of a distorted hand brushing past obvious concern and affection. Then, so quiet Sister Mary Clarice might just have imagined it: "I missed him too."
"I meant to ask you, um, Mister Crowley." she chisels in. "What is that on your face?"
"These," he says, whistling, "are shades, sssssister."
"Do you not like your eyes?"
"Passssss."
"I liked them. When I saw them, earlier."
"Is that flattery, sister?", what seems to be an eyebrow arches.
She blushes, and decides it is best to keep quiet until she's returned Mister Crowley to his angel friend.
The gasp Aziraphale lets out upon seeing them return is music to her ears.
"Crowley!"
"'M here, angel."
Sister Mary Clarice cannot just leave the shards to their demise on the floor. That would just be cruel. But as her eyes dart to the scaffolding lying unused below Aziraphale's window, she gets an idea. A foolish, stupid, no good idea for a little nun like herself, but maybe it might work.
Sister Mary Clarice shushes the furious animal that whispers angrily in her chest and puts Crowley's shards in the lapel of her dress, which she attaches so it won't get in her way. She hears the demon bark a question mid-laugh, but doesn't respond. She's too busy gathering the little courage she has. After a shaky exhale, she begins climbing up the scaffolding.
When she arrives at the top, Aziraphale is level with her, and he is looking at her with big, wide, surprised eyes. Eeyes suddenly filled with recognition when he understand her idea. Eyes filled with gratitude. Crowley is babbling something in her ear, she doesn't even hear it. Maybe it's a question, maybe it's a sob, maybe it's a 'thank you'.
She inhales, a sharp thing like a knife. Lord, she's high. She mustn't look down now. So she looks at Aziraphale, and the angel nods, once, decided.
"Lord, forgive me for I am about to sin."
Without warning, she punches right through Aziraphale's window, directly next to the angel, smashing the glass to pieces. Another hole, that matches the one in Crowley's window.
"Damn, sister," the demon exclaims; he seems genuinely surprised. "Didn’t know you had it in you."
"No blasphemy, or I'm sweeping you out of church."
"Right, right. You do your thing."
Her hands rise with the shards, her knuckles are carmin with blood from smashing the window. Slowly, she puts the shards like it's a puzzle she's assembling. Slowly, a frame appears. Legs, arms, waist, head. Aziraphale follows her gestures like it is a ritual. His mouth is open in adoration.
Surprisingly, the shards hold. They don't fall back. They... Stick. And when they're all there on the window, Crowley appears as one. The lines of rupture heal in a golden glow. Sister Mary Clarice watches in amazement, taking a careful step back.
Aziraphale and Crowley are standing in the same window for the first time in what must be an eternity.
"There you are."
"There I am."
"There we are," Aziraphale corrects, and giggles, a soft sound like the chime of an Angelus bell.
The sister has climbed off the scaffolding, under the watchful eye of both an angel and a demon. She's been thanked more times that need be, but she's a human, and she's done the impossible. She's built them a side they can share.
Aziraphale turns to Crowley. He's there, he hasn't changed. Dear, magnificent Crowley. As beautiful as ever.
"My dear, I am sorry. I need you to hear it, at least. You can decide if you want to forgive me later, but please, hear me."
"Angel..."
"I've been... So stupid. So selfish. I didn't even think about what you'd feel... All I ever wanted was to see you smile again. Be happy again, like you were once."
"Angel." Crowley takes off his glasses. "I've never been happier than right now."
Aziraphale's smile turns soft, as he takes a step closer to hold Crowley's face in both of his hands. The sensation is truly unique. It almost feels... Human. Crowley looks like he's going to break again, any moment. So vulnerable. So open. Usually he would brush it off, put his glasses back on, smirk, say something witty. Avoid this kind of moments when all is true and all is so painfully honest. He doesn't though, not this time. And neither does Aziraphale.
"Crowley, dearest. I'm ready to listen to you now."
"Good," he sniffles. "'Cos I've got so many things to say to you, but the first is this:"
He bends so that he can come close, so close that his head disappears behind the angel's: he's whispering something in his hear.
Aziraphale lets out a sound akin to the sob of a wounded animal, and falls into the open arms that the demon offers.
But Crowley isn't finished. He whispers another thing, and this time Aziraphale chuckles.
"And I you, darling." he says, smile blinding. "Ever since."
When he presses a kiss against the demon's lips, the sharp edges of their contours soften, melting together. Their colours seem to compliment each other in grey. From the pew where she sat, wiping away the little blood on her hand, Sister Mary Clarice thinks about her own demon. About how maybe she should go see her, when all of this is over.
She rises, and starts walking towards the door. The rest isn't for her to see, and lauds7 are going to start soon. The other sisters are going to find her repetitive absences strange, and she wouldn't want them to suspect something.
"I’ve been dreaming of being able to dance with you for centuries, darling. Longer than centuries, even."
"You don’t dance," replies Crowley, and Sister Mary Clarice can hear the blush in his voice.
"Oh hush, you impossible demon. Will you do me the pleasure?"
"Always, angel."
When Sister Mary Clarice casts one last glance backwards, there’s an angel and a demon dancing on the stained glass of the church windows.
1. Vespers are a divine office starting at the "lighting of lamps", so about 6 pm. Return to text
2. Bernadette Soubirous, also known as Saint Bernadette, was a French girl, witness of many apparition of the Virgin Mary telling her to build Our Lady of Lourdes. Before she was beatified, she was tested by having a candle burn on her finger. She reportedly felt no pain whatsoever. Return to text
3. Compline is the last office before retiring, at 7 pm. Return to text
4. Matins are the first office of the day. It takes place during the night, at 2 am. Return to text
5. Aziraphale actually says: "Oh my dear, are you alright?" in latin dating from one century before Cicero. Return to text
6. Saint Anthony of Padua is usually venerated as the patron saint of lost items, lost things and lost people. Return to text
7. Lauds are a divine office starting with the sunrise, at approximatively 5 am. Return to text