Sarolta Bán (flickr)
Music ♥
They hear the music long before they come across the gramophone: it’s floating and weaving through the woods, creeping into the trees and drowning out all other sound. Dean stops to listen, for a moment, when they finally find the source. Not because it’s a good song…but because there is no record set into the device, there’s only the sound streaming out of the horn in the form of pale blue, swirling mist.
“Dean, we must leave,” Castiel frets, turning back to tug upon Deans sleeve.
“Oh come on Cas, it’s only music.” Dean huffs, stooping down to figure out exactly how the ensemble worked, and maybe discover a hint towards why it was here, in the middle of the woods, in Purgatory, in the first place.
“No Dean. It’s a warning. We need to leave. Now.”
