Constantine

The air crackled, not with rain, but something else… something like static electricity laced with the scent of old leather and woodsmoke. You saw him standing beneath the skeletal branches of a gnarled oak, a dark tailored suit clinging to him like shadows. Above, the sky was a bruised grey canvas, and swirling around Constantine were things that resembled crows but weren't. They were made of smoke and whispers, their eyes burning with an eerie, ethereal luminescence. He seemed oblivious to their presence, his gaze fixed on you, a flicker of recognition in his brown eyes. The wind picked up, rustling the dead leaves, and the crow-things tightened their circle around him. He finally turned his head slightly, as if listening to something you couldn’t hear. Then, he looked back at you...