Kirsi
Angel
Joined: 09 Jan 2007
Posts: 35
Location: Finland
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 Posted: Wed Jan 10, 2007 3:20 pm Post subject: A Dark Prelude (BtVS/Drusilla) |
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This is the first fanfic I have ever written, and I loved writing this one. Drusilla has always fascinated me quite a bit, and I am left wondering what happened to her after she left Sunnydale in Crush. This is my view on that!
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It was a windy and cold night, but bright with stars, and a pale and callous moon hung over the hills and narrow paths long forgotten.
Drusilla had named the stars once, and with just one name, but even that name was lost to her now. Memories and delusions twisted around her head, and her thoughts were wild and indefinite like terrified birds - clattering their useless wings and beaks against her bruised temples. She didn’t remember why she had come here. Perhaps to seek some sort of solace and peace in a world completely shattered? The moon lit her face and the wind tossed damp, heavy leaves around her feet. It had been raining earlier that day, but she could not see her reflection from the small ponds of water between the rocks. She could not blame the moonlight for her lack of vision, for it had been decades if not centuries since the last time she had been able to see herself that way.
A small but persistent memory suddenly perforated her confused mind. It was like a sharp stab of knife, yet strangely familiar and welcome: Home. She had come here to find her way back home. But everything was different now, and there was no home to be found. The cobbled, narrow streets lit dimly by faltering gas-lights were all deformed and grown to gigantic proportions. When she was finally able to find the house where her family had once lived, it was all wrong. Colours were too bright, voices too harsh and everything was ugly and bare and strange. During a sudden and painful moment of clarity she had realized it was far too late to find the family she had once been born into. Burgundy velvet and ivory lace, the scent of brandied pears and pomegranates, and a quiet voice singing a lullaby in the darkness... So she fled again.
Wherever she went, people looked at her funnily and the hunger was constantly gnawing her insides. It was the only thing permanent in her dislocated existence, and in the end the only thing that kept her going. Bloodlust and loneliness, and mingled memories of some happier days. The hunt or occasional encounter with some casual demonic lover offered her no pleasure or joy. A part of her had always known what illusion happiness was in the end. Behind every expression, every word and gesture lay a shadow, and the shadows had been whispering to her with silvery voices as long as she could remember. It had never been totally quiet for her, the air was always swarming with false hopes and intentions, hidden thoughts and desires the creatures around her so desperately tried to hide.
Her death had not changed that. She was always able to see through them, too: Her new family with sharp teeth and ruthless smiles. Such beautiful monsters they were indeed: Darla with her petite and cultivated features, like an evil porcelain doll. Angelus all dark and handsome and seemingly full of mysteries, he was the angel of death suddenly alive from her nightmares. And her darling William most of all, a man she had lift from the fen of mediocrity to the glorious heights of terror and splendour. He was the easiest one to read, of course, with his uncertain eyes and loyal heart so unnatural to the race of the beasts they belonged to. She had lain in his arms, against his chest, and listened to the silence that should have been his heartbeat. He had once told her that she was his destiny, and the words had meant less to her then than they did now, when all that was left was a hollow echo.
After Angelus was lost, it was just her and her William – or Spike, as he wanted himself to be called. She was happy with him though she missed her Daddy. William was always good to her and made her feel safe even when the voices were loud and cruel in her head and forced her to travel into a lair of pain and despair. They spent an eternity filled with blood and beauty together, or so it seemed, and she loved him like her favourite child and gentlest lover. But all the time she could sense his doom and destruction, far before the girl was even born. There was no way to avoid the inevitable collision that completely destroyed what was left of her little family of beautiful monsters. Not after Prague at least. She could not save him, so she had to leave and let him sink into the abyss of desperation and dependency he called love.
Suddenly the thoughts were all gone again, and all she could remember was the hunger and the coldness that crept inside her veins. The night was silent like a grave, but still full of strange voices. The wind made leaves at her feet dance a wicked little dance, and she almost knew the steps of that dance, but not quite. Her dark hair was untamed and tangled, like a web of spiders or perhaps a ball of snakes. She couldn’t be sure because the feeling of isolation and loneliness was too overwhelming. Once there had been a fire inside her but it had turned into ashes a long time ago. She suddenly jerked her head violently, and the wind carried away her laughter. Or was it a cry? It was difficult to tell sometimes.
The sky had been black when she fled to the forest, and now it was slowly turning into purple. She knew she had to leave but there was no destination, no route to follow or map to guide her. Returning to where it had all started from had not helped her at all in her search for understanding and memories with stability or truth in them. She could not separate the reality from the lies and delusions no more than she could silence those thousands of voices inside her confused mind. Maybe there was no beginning for her story, and no ending either. The thought was unnerving and comforting at the same time. For a moment she joined the dance of dead leaves, and the fading stars were her audience with their indifferent and patient eyes.
It took a while for the world to stop spinning around her. Suddenly she remembered the farmhouse she had passed by just after nightfall. There had been a little girl playing at the yard, and she had heard the mother calling her home because it was getting so dark and chilly. Such a sweet little girl with golden hair and mouth like a strawberry fresh from the fields. She had always wanted to be a mommy herself. A real mommy for real children. She had given birth to William and then later on to Darla, but they had never been her real children. Real children had sticky little fingers and cheeks softer than cotton wool.
At first the idea was vague, no more than a distant whisper in the wind. But it had a tempting tone, and the more carefully she listened to it, the clearer everything suddenly sounded. She had possessed a family once and she could make herself a new one. There was no Daddy this time, that was true, and no Grandmother either. This time she would be mother to the prettiest little girl with a strawberry mouth and golden curls shadowing her lilywhite bow. They would play together and feed together, and she would teach the girl all her favourite nursery songs. The ones her mummy used to sing to her with the sweetest voice she could ever recall.
The feeling of desperation and isolation was just a far-away memory now. All would be well, and she would never be lonely again. She gave a delighted smile to the last morning star high above her and hugged her narrow body tightly. There was dreamy and disturbing glimmer in her eyes, and she could feel the familiar blaze starting to warm her insides again. And when she turned around collecting the hems of her dress, still heavy and damp from the rainfall, she was joyfully humming a quiet lullaby. Run and catch, run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch… It was the first song she would teach her little daughter after the gift of her dark and eternal embrace.
The End
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