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I do not care. I repeat, I do not— oh, Abigail Stainfield you are in trouble!

ft. : Yumi Lambert
Messages : 14
LOL : 0
Date d'inscription : 03/09/2016
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The reaper who couldn't kill
Lun 5 Sep - 15:36
I do not judge. I do not get involved. I do not care.

Why, then, did I feel compelled to find a meaning out of this situation of mine?

I could see the facts clearly: I disobeyed, I got punished for it. The facts were simple and straighforward. There was no superior force pulling me into disobedience, and yet I couldn’t help convincing myself that I did the right thing. That Abigail Stainfield was to be spared in the name of the Natural Order. I had to, for my own sanity.
It is a strange feeling, being delusional and completely aware of it. After only a few months banished among the mortals, humans and their contradictions seemed to have gotten to me faster than I expected.

If there was any comfort to be found in this internal conflict of my mind, it was this new found purpose: Abigail Stainfield had to be kept alive.

My decision was made. I would stay by her side, watch her, invisible to all human eyes, and I would protect her from all harm.

Locate her would be the easiest part. Her sobbing would sometimes get to me even when I tried to shut her out.
I focused on her presence. She seemed quiet —I could not hear any weeping, which was quite a relief— and within the lapse a heartbeat, I found myself in a room entirely foreign to me. One thing, though, felt extraordinarily familiar.

Another angel had been here before.

I could sense their grace irradiating from the walls, the furniture and everything surrounding me. I clenched my fists, suddenly aware that I had come here completely unprepared. What, on Heaven’s sake, would bring another angel here of all places?

Besides the remainings of an angelic presence, the room was empty. Shyly crossing through the wall, the soft rustling of water drops against the curtain of a shower.

I looked around. The desk was covered with books. Pentagrams, demons, ghosts, exorcism, ammunitions.


Oh, Hell, no.

If that woman thought she was going after the demon that killed her fiancé after I sacrificed myself for her survival, she was so, so wrong.

I could feel Delilah’s blood boiling. Anger was getting to me. I raced to the bathroom, my teeth grinding, and with a wave of the hand, pulled the curtain wide open.

« Abigail Stainfield, what on Earth do you think you are doing? »
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ft. : Felicity Jones
Messages : 43
LOL : 0
Date d'inscription : 04/06/2015
Age : 28
Localisation : Probably crying somewhere far far away
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Abigail Stainfield
Poor Little Hunter
Mar 6 Sep - 0:38

No time to shower
We have things to talk about bitch.

The shower felt good.

The fact is, since the last three days I spend most of my time in it.  I don't know why, but it felt like a safe place when my reading was getting painful - or too graphic. When I was not eating or studying the awful book, I was there.  In this miserable and gloomy motel that was curiously becoming my home.

Going outside to take a walk was litteraly out of question, suddendly it felt like everything and everyone was a treat to me.  Damn Castiel, damn demon, damn life.  Never was I ever been so afraid of living.  Finally, my ignorance was a gift, a gift I couldn't take back, a gift that was lost forever.

In a sigh I reach the faucet, letting more hot water flow.  The water was warm and washing away the last image printed in my mind of a wendigo, the air was heavy of the steam and I was finally comfortable.

For a second I left my instable garde down...

« Abigail Stainfield, what on Earth do you think you are doing? »

And then I died.  I litteraly died inside while my bulging eyes were fixing this strange girl in her ugly powder blue suit, calling me by my name and visibly pretty upset about something I did.  Instinctivly, I grabed back the dirty motel curtain, tears starting to run on my cheak and scream.


I was the one who was suppose to be upset, not this random weird girl!  My naked butt was now crushed on the wall of the shower, my voice was shaking, my tears were running all over my face, bluring my sight and my heart was beating like crazy.  What was the matter why eveyrone lately? Was it the new activity : Go talk with Abigail while she's taking a shower?


I know a lot. But I didn't see anything.
Passé composé d’une épopée démesurée, Délurée incendiée même oubliée, Futur de quelques murmures, Écriture nocturne d’une aventure Aux allures obscures.
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I do not care. I repeat, I do not— oh, Abigail Stainfield you are in trouble!
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