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The first sensation that she felt was pain. It crept along her spine, dipping into every nerve until Buffy was certain that she would pass out. She could feel cold arms around her but dismissed it the next moment, recalling the sinking of fangs into her flesh and need. There was a terrible sense that something or someone was missing. The Slayer numbly opened her eyes, wincing when her vision swirled. The edges of her mind were hazy, odd details like the taste of chocolate and words that couldn’t possibly be hers leaping to the fore in snapshots. What’s happened to me? she thought worriedly. Why can’t I see? The slayer rocked forward, clutching desperately at her head as another memory coursed through her.

“Why are you doing this?”

The voice spoke softly, haunting the cold room with its soothing tones. Looking up Buffy could see that she was below ground but where she had no idea. The scent of dust was coupled with the sloshing ground that she tread over, some water having leaked down through the room. Marble and other types of stone framed the four corners which were hidden almost completely by darkness.

This is just a little bit creepy.

Turning the slayer moved until her back leaned against the wall, waiting for that eerie voice to speak again. From what she had heard it was obviously English, upper class if watching that movie ‘Pride and Prejudice’ had taught her anything. Buffy shivered when a woman moved out of the shadows.

What the hell is Darla doing here?

Again the voice sounded, this time breaking into a harsh laugh.

“You know that there’s no point to this don’t you? I know what you vile creatures are and nothing you do will make me join you.”

Darla merely shrugged, “whatever you say Drusilla.” Her smile, half hidden by the lack of light appeared malicious, as though the whole situation was an act of revenge. The vampire was dressed in a blue gown of silk, the hem just skirting the floor. If it bothered Darla that water coated the edges she gave no sign, crossing the dust covered stone until she was only three feet away from the slayer. “We both know that Angelus will soon change your mind. He always was persuasive.” Her blue eyes, calculating and cold seemed to ghost over Buffy, not even registering that she was there. It gave the petite blond the confidence she lacked to move away from the wall and stand next to Darla.

The sight of Drusilla, chained to the wall and broken, caused her to gasp in shock.

The brunette who had terrorized Buffy’s dreams on more than one occasion hung on the wall, her feet dangling a foot above the ground. In this vision her skin still retained a healthy glow, soft curves rather than the sharp angles she would later sport making the girl appear vivacious. It was a complete contradiction to the vampire who later would cut Kendra’s throat to ribbons. Studying her, Buffy noticed that Drusilla’s shoes had been removed; trails of blood coursing down and dripping off her toes. The slayer jerked her eyes away from her lower form which lay completely bare and fixed her eyes on the woman’s face. How can a human sustain such damage?

Her hair fell in ringlets and thankfully had not been touched. It was a small mercy when seeing the deep scratches which were gouged into each cheek. The fingernail marks were still clearly visible. Blood coated her neck, thick lobs still flowing down until they stained what remained of the dress.

Buffy shuddered, wanting to help Drusilla who obviously was very much awake and sane. Obviously Angelus had not started the final stages of his ‘master piece’. The memory she was witnessing could only have occurred just before she was turned, a youthful glow to her face hinting that the girl was not more than sixteen, eighteen at best.

The slayer stepped forward, ghosting a hand over the suspended feet.

“Leave her be wench.”

Buffy whirled to see the hulking frame of Angelus make his way towards them, clad in finery that she had only seen in movies. His hair was long, brushing the edges of his shirt collar which flared out in a dramatic manner. Puffs of cloth centered down the middle of his chest, causing the slayer to widen her eyes in surprise. On any other enemy the slayer was positive that she would have laughed outright yet the cold yellow eyes stilled any feelings of merriment. Despite the odd attire Angelus still retained his vicious aura, made all the more plain by the snarl which erupted from his throat.

“You should’ve known I wasn’t done toying with her yet.” His gaze focused on Darla, causing his sire to shrug with indifference.

“You were taking too long”, she said dully. “What was I meant to do? It’s plain that she isn’t the slayer.” The vampire studied her fingernails in boredom, relishing the growl which echoed in the room. “I say that we just kill her and be done with it.”

Instantly Angelus moved forward, shaking his sire in anger. “Touch her and you will scream to be dusted Darla.” His chest rose and fell with unneeded breaths, echoing in the room and only emphasising his anger. “This one is special… she has a purpose.”

Buffy moved further away from the pair, glad that the memory was once more dissolving into the familiar blur she had seen before. Anything was better than listening to the soft lilt of Drusilla as Angelus began to reshape her mind.


What on earth was that? The Slayer moved her hand across her brow, still feeling residual tremors from the force of the flashback. There was no good explanation for its occurrence except to assume that somehow Drusilla had transferred her memories during the interrogation. She swept the edges of her fingertips along her face, recoiling back into Spike’s chest when she felt what could only be ridges.

This can’t be happening….

Again she pushed at the skin, a feeling of dread coursing through her when the vampiric mask did not dissipate like a bad dream. She had known that Drusilla had bit her but this? Buffy fought the urge to scream her terror, huddling further into the cold chest which supported her shaking frame.

What am I going to do? she thought. I can’t see anything and Dru could still be in here… waiting. The petite blond perked her ears hoping to catch a hint of the vampire’s movements before realising that she had been abandoned.

Drusilla has worse parenting skills then Hank.

The stench of blood filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses until she could barely breathe. It was so strong that her throat seemed to clamp like a vice. Though she was partially blind, she could still see a shock of platinum hair far too close to be taken seriously. Buffy did not trust her senses enough to believe that Spike had moved and was holding her. Although that would make sense, seeing as I’m being held. She struggled to hold back the nausea which threatened at the scent of her spilt blood, moving her face closer to the other vampire’s. Surely he would be awake by now. The crypt absolutely stunk with the smell of blood and fear. Buffy felt a twinge of paranoia as she realised that it was her’s.

This is a nightmare.

Along her arms and particularly shoulder she could feel the rough coating that could only be her drying blood. The petite blond moved her hand down her neck, starting to cry as she felt the two puncture holes. Dru had ripped at her neck with a frenzy after she dissolved into consciousness, the taste of slayer obviously being too much. Buffy was amazed that she had survived.

Not survived, she corrected mentally. You’re dead Buffy. She moved her body more firmly into Spike’s embrace, Drusilla’s familiar scent soothing her subconsciously.

There still remained the constant ache of longing but it abated slightly when close to him. The petite blond dismissed the obvious fear that such a sensation was present, it could be ignored for now.

What I really need is answers.

Buffy moved her lips to Spike’s throat, growling low before hearing an answering rumble. Slowly his shocked eyes opened, gazing at her with a mixture of fear and awe. His azure eyes turned yellow at the sight of the ridges and fangs which peeked just under her top lip.

Buffy.





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