bits of star-dust blown from the hand of God

Part 5 (END)

The child, surprisingly, grows rather quickly for one born so small.

It's as honestly if they just blink and her form switches to spite the both of them some days.

Christened with the not-too-hard Latin name of Mariella, the little girl grows from a rosy, bubbly infant that melts the hearts of all she meets on her morning walks to an unruly toddler clinging to their legs (or worse, setting alight her cot, but that's a story for another day) before into the sweetest, but the most devilish young girl Aziraphale has ever had the chance of meeting (or teaching the ways of the world for that matter).

Her red long hair either sat in pigtails, buns or usually braids (Crowley having to do all three as Aziraphale never had liked long hair in his form and he, now having returned to his male form only 24 hours after birth, was more experienced given his stages of life included some a type of identity filler) where it could be away from her face and show off her brilliant blue eyes, the divine making sure in leaving no doubt as to her lineage from just a look at her.

Currently, at this moment, Aziraphale is watching the elegant 12-year-old as she confidently leads people around to the sections of the shop so they can find what they wish, her cheeky smile seemingly charming his customers quite effectively (if the rate of sales in his shop has to say anything about it).

On the other side of the room, Crowley sits in his designated cage, body draped over a branch with a keen set of eyes as he watches along with him, their other children, Sigur, Damien ("Crowley, NO!" "Crowley, YES!") and lastly, little Athena running around the shop in various stages of unkempt as both absorb the moment at hand.

These will not be their last children, obviously, that is understandable. Being ethereal, they could have so many more, a whole army of them really, but for right now, let us just watch them watching the future. It seems to be awfully close, does it not?

We don't know that the future has in store for us.

What these children of two beings both holy and unholy will live to be.

Will they be more like angels? Demons? Humans? Perhaps.

Only time (and an overabundance of megar parenting skills) will tell us.

There is however, one thing we can be certain of, despite the uncertainty of tomorrow.

For these children, unknowingly leaving one day thinking they'll return to their home and forgetting this bookshop, forgetting the long summers in France where crepes and brioche are a firm favourite, as well as the winters in Tadfield with their Uncle Adam and cousins, there will come a day, when all is said and done and their time on Earth is up, that the place they lovingly grew up in, will be still standing proudly tall in its own little corner of London, eyes only looking at it's windows for seconds before the hustle takes them away again, with two old men sitting with open arms to welcome them all back home.