He woke up to the sound of his own scream. Panting, and drenched in sweat, he quickly reached for his face, and pressed his palms against his head.
“I’m ok,” He whispered, unable to take his mind off of the visual of his own severed head, falling into nothingness. “I’m ok…” He took deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart. His chest hurt, he couldn’t calm down.
Those dead eyes, filled with the fear he must have felt at the moment of his death.
A severed head. Blood, dripping from its neck.
His head. His neck. His blood!
Distant thunder startled him. He flinched and hugged his own knees. Suddenly, he felt unsafe in this room. It was so large, so empty save for the bed and a couch. There was so much space here – so much space for the four winged angel to fit.
Was that what was going to happen? Was Azazel going to cut his head off?
He shuddered and
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