اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
┏━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┓ chapter six: and so he spoke ┗━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┛
"The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name."
— Book of Revelation 13:1
"Who the hell are you?" Dean finally asked. His green eyes were bloodshot, tired. Sad. Marley wondered if something had happened.
"Marlene."
He quirked a brow, arms crossed. The perfect "growing suspicion" stance. "Marlene who?"
"The same Marlene you hung up on. Sorry about you dad, by the way," she added less confrontationally, genuinely sympathetic.
He frowned, green eyes narrowed as he stared at her, half sceptical, half mystified. Marlene gave an exhausted sigh with a bored eye-roll, impatiently waiting for Dean to finally recollect their majorly disappointing exchange over his late father's phone.
His face lit up with a thought, "Have we?..."
"No."
"Who's that, Dean?" a gruff male voice asked from inside the house. An older man walked up to the door, alarm evident on his grim bearded face. It was gone, though, as soon as he spotted Marlene who stood mere 5'4 before them. "What're ya doing here, girl?"
"You're Robert Singer, aren't you?" she surmised. Yes, that was about right; the baseball cap and the whole lumberjack in the wild aesthetic.
"Only when I'm in trouble," the man grumbled, "Now what's your business?"
"It's about Lilith."
Dean's frown deepened, his whole stance becoming rigid. There was something guarded yet somehow vulnerable in the look on his face.
"There's something you need to know."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
The room was enveloped in complete silence. It was some kind of a library or a study that reminded Marlene of her father. It smelled of old paper and whiskey, a bit stuffy but endearingly cozy, the lighting dim and intimate. Bobby Singer was definitely a hoarder, judging by the mountains of books on every corner and all sorts of weird-looking trinkets scattered around.
Marlene sat on the couch, hands folded demurely like she was a Victorian lady at high tea. Her eyes danced between Dean and Bobby, waiting for some kind of a reaction after she'd told them her life's story. Omitting some facts, of course.
Bobby looked mildly curious, if not a little sceptical. The Winchester stood leaning against the desk, a perpetual frown etched into his chiseled features, "Heaven on Earth? What kind of crap is that?"
