Chapter Text
EXT. WOODS - EVENING
Aziraphale pulls the scrap of parchment to his face, squinting to see his own hastily-penned handwriting in the receding sunlight. “At the end of the dirt path, there lies a sprawling oak tree.” He looks past the paper down to his feet, where the dirt path seems to shore up into mossy tree roots and fallen branches. His eyes scan up the trunk of a large oak tree, its branches infinitely twisting into the heavens. “Check...” he says to himself, then continues reading. “Seven hundred metres to the north, there is a clearing carved of the trees where dwell the fae.” He pulls out his pocket watch, tapping its face until it miraculously becomes a compass. He turns his body until the dial points him north; then he taps the watch back to a clock and makes his way through the forest.
Fifteen minutes later, Aziraphale begins to feel a change in the atmosphere; the forest around him buzzes with an otherworldly mysticism that settles deep in his bones. Before long, he reaches a clearing as described on his parchment. With narrowed eyes, he surveys the area, looking for anything that might present as a fairy’s abode. Sure enough, there is a small log cabin nestled between a cluster of trees. And on its doorstep, the silhouette of a figure.
Aziraphale’s heart leaps into his throat. Yes, he has been hoping the stories were true, but a small part of him — a part he tried often to quiet — feared that it might all be a wild goose chase. But there’s no denying how every detail aligns with all of the books he’s read.
He summons the courage to clear his throat. “Mr. Goodfellow?”
The figure begins to turn around, and even in the dim twilight, Aziraphale can make out the glint of piercing yellow eyes...