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of castiel ♃ (castieli) wrote in silverage,

"The Lord's reach knows no limit," Castiel agreed, blind to her confusion. He spoke always with an intensity, as though each and every word was of great import. "But there are ways—ancient ways—to ward a place temporarily from divine interference."

"There is a shortsword. Silver in colour." Without taking his eyes off of her, he extracted a gleaming blade one-handedly from within a sleeve. He raised it to give her a good view. Light danced on its edge, or perhaps it was the one giving off the light. It was a shimmering, almost living thing that had been forged from no human metal. "Looks like this."

While she examined the weapon, he brought his other hand to her forehead and touched lightly, implanting visions of everything she needed to know about the location.