(She's told a few bits. The safe parts. That she breathed fire at them (only a little fire), some of her own more flippant feelings about being in Heaven again ("Even worse than I remembered". Maybe someday she'll say more, when it won't hurt either of them. Maybe not. Some doors are better closed.)

Crowley rolls her eyes at this comparison. "That's not hard," she says in the dryest of dry voices, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders in turn. "And you don't even like that musical. But yeah, good show this." Her grin turns faintly wicked. "Think I should pull a Hamlet? It's tempting. I've certainly made worse things popular."