slowly

Aziraphale was slow. He spent six thousand years dancing slowly, absorbing his feelings, observing its effects on him, trying to understand himself. He tried to read himself, curious to be able to decipher his own secrets, but he was not a book. He questioned himself countless times, knowing that his brothers and sisters in heaven would judge him. Maybe they would laugh at his face, maybe they would look at him with pity, or with contempt, or with anger. He prayed to God, but they didn't answer. But when did you ever say that loving was a sin?