He didn't know how long he'd been alone with himself, but the angel's presence was indeed comforting, easing his pain, reminding him that this seemed very, very real. The angel's grace was at once both warm and enveloping and prickling at is dark nature. It stung, but oddly that was even more reassuring.

Slowly his sobs died down. Slowly he started to regain himself. The soft touches and warmth of the angel's body soothed his aching heart enough that he was finally able to find his words. Well, some of them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed from the dryness of his throat. He swallowed and tried again, this time finally able to find his shaky, rough voice. If he didn't know that the sounds were coming from his own throat, he wouldn't have recognized his own voice.

"Aziraphale... I... I'm so sorry..."

Antia patted Crowley's hair gently. She knew there was nothing she could do to help him, after all what kind of help can you give yourself when the one being that could actually help was right there. If only Elisha was there for her to burrow among her feathers and feel at peace herself. She paused, her little gecko brow furrowing slightly as the popped her head up and looked around for the sooty albatross that was Aziraphale's daemon. To her surprise, Elisha was nowhere to be seen. Not in one of the nearby trees, not swimming in the nearby water with the ducks, not anywhere on Aziraphale's person. Something was desperately wrong here.

She gave Aziraphale a stern look. "Where's Elisha?"