Spike looked down at Buffy, snuggled against his bare chest, deep asleep. Her face was relaxed and peaceful and she looked so young. His lips curled in a soft smile. Nobody who saw her like this would believe what this tiny slip of a girl was capable of achieving.
There were still smudges of dirt at her temple and her hair was a mess of tangled locks - but she was so beautiful! He longed to touch her cheek, to comb gentle fingers through her golden tresses, but he couldn’t move without waking her. Not that he wanted to move at all. This was his heaven, to hold her in his arms.
He shook his head in wonder. After she’d removed the splinter of wood from his chest, he hadn’t been in imminent danger anymore. Despite that, she’d risked her life and offered Slayer’s blood to him. He would’ve undoubtedly healed in time, but her sacrifice had sped his recovery immeasurably.
Deep inside, he could hear his demon purring. It was a happy and contented sound which vibrated throughout his whole body. The bugger was clearly smitten with this girl, not that he could blame him. He’d always been drawn to Slayers, had sought them out. Truth be told, he’d hunted them. Not the baby Slayers that died like mayflies, but the experienced ones, the battle hardened, self-confident warriors. Time and again, when he’d set eyes on his prey, his demon had been disappointed and refused to take on the fight because she lacked that certain something. Had both he and the demon been on the search for this girl the whole time? In search for a formidable warrior for his demon, a passionate, caring heart for his human self?
His musings were interrupted as the door slowly opened and Tara slipped quietly into the room.
“I’ve got a replacement for your IV. Sorry, Spike. Hadn’t wanted to wake you up,” she whispered. “How’re you feeling? You look much better.”
“’s alright, Glinda, ‘ave been awake quite a while. Had my fair share of rest yesterday.” He winked at her.
A slight smile spread briefly over Tara’s face before she fell solemn again. Even in the dimmed room he could see that the girl had dark shadows under her eyes and looked haunted. What had happened to affect her like this? Clearly, his bloody stupid accident won’t have caused her to weep. He watched as she expertly hooked up a new bag of blood to his drip.
“What’s wrong, luv?” he asked softly, reaching one hand out and touching her arm gently.
She looked at him before she cast her eyes down. “Willow… she…” Tara clasped her hands firmly together until her knuckles went white. A big tear ran down her cheek and she opened and closed her mouth several times without saying anything. “I’m sorry,” she stammered finally, turned, and fled the room.
Puzzled, Spike stared at the ceiling where the morning sun cast rippling shadows through the curtains. Something must’ve happened to Red to get Tara that distressed. It wasn’t really his business, but he cared for the gentle blonde witch.
He felt Buffy stir at his side. Her heartbeat quickened and she uttered a small sigh. Her hand flexed on his shoulder and her thumb started rubbing tenderly over his skin. She snuggled closer to him and pressed her nose into the crook of his neck. He would like to wake up like this every day. Well, without the whole ‘being bandaged’ theme. Come to think of it, every time he’d been in her bed now, he’d been patched up. He chuckled softly. What a sorry sod he was.
Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Hu…”
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted her as he placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Hey, guess who’s chipper again,” she teased before stifling a small yawn. Buffy sat up and looked him over. With tender fingers she examined the lump on his head. She cupped her hand under his chin and slowly turned his head to check his numerous cuts and bruises.
“So then, what’s the verdict, doc?” Spike had to grin at her earnestness. “You should wear a nurse’s uniform, pet, all tight and low cut.” He licked his lips suggestively as he noticed the excited gleam in her eyes. Maybe they could do some role playing when he was well again. His gaze clouded as he ran some taunting ideas through his mind. Sexy police girl with hand-cuffs?
Buffy squatted lightly his arm. “You must be healing well if you can think about that already.”
“I’m just a guy, pet; we think about that all the time. If we stop, we’re probably dead.” He smirked. “Besides, with all the blood you’re pumping into me… That had to go somewhere, right? Want to take a peek?”
The tent in the cover was clearly visible, standing up like a ship’s sail over the horizon. Buffy crooked her eyebrows. “I think, Nurse Buffy won’t tend to that swelling today. You need more rest and I need a shower.” She resolutely nodded and crawled out of bed. She had a point, he had to admit that. But he definitely needed to get a uniform for her. Maybe he could ask demon-girl?
“I don’t want to know what you’re thinking right now, Spike,” she scolded and planted her hands firmly onto her hips. Even in her rumpled clothes, she was a dream. With that slight slant to the hip, her thrust out boobs - she looked the image of a cover girl. And look at that full, pouting lip…
“Hey, that’s unfair! I’m lying here, all vulnerable and at your mercy, and you dangle your grapes out of my reach.” Now, it was his turn to pout.
Buffy threw back her head and flung her hair dramatically over her shoulder. She turned and sashayed towards the bathroom door, tauntingly swinging her hips. “No grapes either!”
“Bugger.”
With a final laugh, she closed the door behind her.
Buffy leaned against the bathroom door, her smile still on her face. She turned towards the sink and looked into the mirror. Her eyes stared back at her, a sparkling hazel green, laughter glittering like sunshine on a quiet pool of tranquility. Something stirred inside her, something startling. She felt happy, but more. She felt peaceful, content. When had she last felt so relaxed?
As she tried to catch the reason for the change that drifted up in a corner of her mind like a wisp of smoke, it slipped through her fingers, sliding just out of her reach again. She shook her head and gave up on it as she turned her attention to the damage the rescue operation had done to her body.
Last night she’d only taken the time to let down her pony-tail, quickly wipe clean her face, and change into unsoiled clothes, too anxious to leave Spike’s side for too long. Her hair was a mess, tangled and still gritty to her touch. She brushed it out of her face with her fingers. On her chin and cheeks the tiny scrapes had already faded and were nearly invisible.
The deeper scratches on her arms had scabbed and thin, jagged lines crisscrossed the back of her hands and forearms. On her bronzed skin, Spike’s puncture wounds stood out like beads; two neat and clean circles of new, rosy skin connected by a thin, ivory, already healed cut. Her fingernails were another matter altogether, lots of them were chipped or broken off. Her Slayer healing repaired living tissue quickly, but not hair and nails. With a resigned sigh, she took the nail clipper and cut her nails short and even. She should’ve learned by now that fighting and elegant fingernails just didn’t go together.
She slipped out of her t-shirt, sweatpants, and panties and stepped into the shower. As she opened the tap, warm water poured down, prickling on her shoulders and back. Buffy raised her head, closed her eyes, and held her face into the hot stream. The water massaged her brow and rivulets ran down her chin, forming a small torrent between her breasts. Her hair spread like fringes of seaweed on her back, shifting with the water current and clinging to her shoulders. She combed her fingers through her tresses, loosening the earth and particles still caught in them.
A fresh, citrus smell filled the steaming shower cabin as she worked the shampoo into her hair and scalp. Clusters of silken foam bubbles slid down her neck, tickling and popping as they dissolved in the water. She grinned as she remembered how they had christened Spike’s new bathroom, just a few days ago. She’d slain a slimy demon and it had showered her face and neckline with clinging, green goo. Spike had helped her wash it off, his slender fingers massaging shampoo into her hair. She remembered his hands, sliding over her slippery skin, rubbing at the gooey spots and never leaving out the most sensitive ones. Trust him to get the most fun out of each situation. Surprisingly, they’d ended up chasing each other around the bathroom, laughing and blowing foam all over the place.
After lathering her hair with a generous amount of conditioner, she twirled it and wound it tightly on top of her head. With a sigh, she turned and let the warm spray splash on her back. She rolled her shoulders under the torrent and felt a strained muscle in her right upper arm loosen. Her body unwound, tension uncurling, and the last of her worries washed away with the dirt.
She turned back towards the showerhead and leaned forward, pressing her hands onto the tiled wall. The spray of water loosened the knot of her hair and rinsed the conditioner from her tresses. Despite the agitation and drama of the cave-in she felt strangely quiet. Like a band around her chest had snapped and released her from its hold. She felt free, free to breathe, free to laugh, free to enjoy. What had caused this astonishing change?
As the water splashed onto her head, her mind floated away, wandering through the events of last night. Suddenly, she jerked upright.
Spike.
She loved him.
She was in love with him!
In all the excitement, she’d pushed it back, but now it was in the center of her mind again, clear and strong, shining like a beacon.
She felt the emotion swell in her chest, fill her heart with warmth until it overflowed. It bubbled joyfully up her throat, streamed out of every pore of her skin. Surely, she was glowing right now. She chuckled and her giggles grew until her whole body was shaking. She wanted to sing and dance, but that was not her way.
So she stood there in the shower, grinning like a madwoman until the water ran cold.
In the late afternoon, Elin came to redress Spike’s wound.
Spike lay on his stomach, with a towel decently hiding his naked backside. Beside him, Buffy sat cross-legged on the bed. Her left hand rested on his head, her fingers gently twirling his hair into tight curls. She looked down at him and a small smile played on her lips. Just watching him, simply being near him, filled her with joy.
The healer had removed the IV and curtly declared that Spike could return to his usual eating habits. She picked at the tape holding the compress over Spike’s shoulder and ripped it – ouch - off with a swift jerk. Carefully, she lifted the compress and looked at the wound.
“Uhmmm…” she murmured.
“What is it?” Buffy inquired, looking intensely at the wound. It was still a nasty, mangled hole, drilled into Spike’s back.
“It is healing. Quite well actually, more quickly than I expected.” Elin pointed with her finger. “Look here, the fractured rib is already mended; you can see the slightly lighter color where the new bone structure closed the gap. The rip through the lung is closing nicely, forming new tissue. And see here,” she waved her hand around the rim of the wound, “the muscle is re-growing too.”
Buffy nodded. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“More than good. It’s astonishing. Well, of course I don’t have experience with the healing capacity of vampires, but I assumed that they would heal similar to Slayers. To improve like this is amazing. I wouldn’t have expected this kind of progress for at least two or three days.”
Suddenly Elin’s gaze latched onto Buffy’s left arm that she had propped up on the bed. Buffy quickly cradled it against her chest while heat crawled up her cheeks.
“I see,” the healer continued, staring intently. “Slayer’s blood would certainly speed the healing.” Her grey eyes looked at Buffy, detached in scientific interest. “How much did he take?”
Buffy shifted uncomfortably on the bed under Elin’s scrutiny. “Not much, about ten sips I guess.”
“You should drink a lot to replenish the blood loss. It might’ve seemed to you like small sips, but, I assure you, a vampire can take quite a lot in a short time. Can I see the bite marks?” The healer held out her hand. Buffy slowly extended her arm and Elin took it lightly, turning it into the light. “They are small and nearly invisible. Your other scratches aren’t quite as healed and they weren’t so deep. Did you apply any salve or ointment to them?”
Frowning, Buffy shook her head lightly. “No, just Spike – the demon… he licked them clean.”
Spike lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at the healer. “Vampire saliva. It closes a bite,” he explained. “’tis necessary if you want to preserve a meal… uhmmm… a victim, you know, for another day or two.”
Elin seemed unfazed. “Yes, that makes sense.” She released her grip and Buffy’s arm fell back to her side. She’d been expecting a judgmental reaction from the Coven witch. Some warning that letting a vampire bite her was too dangerous, some reprimand that Slayer’s blood was too valuable to use it to speed up Spike’s recovery. The only reaction that she’d seen in Elin’s face had been curiosity.
Buffy watched as the healer deftly placed a new compress onto the wound and taped it. “Spike, I recommend that you continue lying on your back so that the fluid can leave the wound unobstructed. Since you don’t have to consider infection, it should heal without complications. Let me take a look at your broken leg.”
While Elin removed the splint, Buffy touched Spike’s shoulder lightly, running her finger over his shoulder. “Does it hurt you a lot?”
“Tingles mostly, pet. Kinda like an itch I can’t scratch.” A grin tucked at the corner of his lips and his eyes held a suggestive glint.
Lightly, Buffy poked her finger into his shoulder. “You need to rest. Later…” She grinned back and licked her lips. She liked the heat that immediately flamed up in his blue eyes and how his pupils widened in anticipation. That alone would’ve shown her that he’d improved quickly. If her blood did so well, she should give him another round. Solely for healing of course, she assured herself. Not that she minded the side effect of a mind blowing orgasm.
“The bone has mended too. Really amazing how Slayer’s blood quickens the recovery.” Elin looked up at them. “It wasn’t a complicated fracture anyway; just a bending fracture of the fibula. I think we could forego the splint as long as you don’t put any weight on the leg for a day at least. I’m sure it would be more comfortable for you if I only bandage the wound. The tear in the muscle isn’t closed yet.”
As the healer dressed the wound in a light bandage, Buffy watched the woman closely. She was working with efficient, short movements, every grip firm and steady. “Thank you, Elin. I don’t think I told you before, but I’m real glad you’re here in Sunnydale. I hope you’ll stay with us for a while; you are making yourself quite indispensable. I don’t know how we managed without you.”
Elin straightened and smiled one of her rare, beautiful smiles. “It was one of the best decisions in my life to come here. Here I feel needed; I can tribute to the fight against evil. Since I dropped out of the Watcher’s training, I always wondered if I did the right thing. I joined the Council because I wanted to contribute to the fight. Here, finally, I can really be of service. I just have one request…” she looked down to the ground, suddenly shy.
It was such a change in her behavior that Buffy was startled for a moment and didn’t immediately reply.
“It’s just a small thing, really,” Elin continued.
“What is it?” Buffy probed gently.
“Well, I still keep in good shape. But I don’t want to hamper you in a real fight.” Elin shifted nervously. “I just thought… you are giving Dawn weapon’s training now. Maybe you can work a bit with me too? Just some advice… maybe work out a training plan for me?”
Buffy blinked in astonishment. Why had she never thought of that? Training the Scooby group? It was such an obvious idea.
“We could do that, right, pet?” Spike’s voice intruded her thoughts. “Wanted to ask Glinda anyway. Did a right nice axing at Halloween. Won’t want to see her in harm’s way without being prepared.”
“Glinda?” Elin asked.
“He means Tara. Glinda, the Good Witch of the South,” Buffy explained absentmindedly. “I’m so stupid. You’re right, Elin. It would be my pleasure to train you. We should train all of the Scoobies.”
“You’re not stupid, luv,” added Spike. “Just a bit slow on the uptake sometimes.” He chuckled as Buffy glared down at him.
“Then I’ll leave you two alone,” said Elin, smiling at them. At the door, the healer stopped. “Remember to drink a lot, Buffy, if you donate blood. Best are mineral drinks, although juices work too. And don’t give too much at a time.”
She closed the door on a startled Buffy. Had her thoughts been so obvious?
Holding the huge mug of warm blood in her hand, Buffy opened the door slowly. Spike was still asleep, lying sprawled on her bed. She slipped quietly into the room and set the mug down on the bedside table.
He looked so beautiful, it pulled at her heart. His thick, long lashes lay dark on his white, translucent skin. The injury had taken its toll; he was thinner, his cheeks more sunken than normal, pronouncing the sharp line of his cheekbones. His mouth was full and soft, relaxed in sleep, beckoning for her kiss. On his forehead and temple the bruises had faded to a yellowish green and would be invisible in another day or two.
However nothing marred the alabaster firmness of his chest and stomach. Her eyes wandered admiringly over the flat planes and defined curves of his well-muscled torso, down to where the blanket decently hid his groin. Her hand stretched towards him of its own volition and she sat down on the edge of the bed, drawn by her need to touch him. Her fingers hovered over his chest, right over his heart. She wondered what he’d been like when he was still alive, when his heart was still beating in his chest.
He’d told her he’d always been bad. She might’ve believed that, long ago, when she had detested him, when she hadn’t known him like she did now. Too often some remark, some action, had slipped through his guard, and penetrated the armor he’d wrapped around himself like his black leather duster. She chuckled softly. What Big Bad scoundrel would’ve read Dickens’ Christmas Carol to his mum? Of course it didn’t matter what he’d been, she loved what he had become. Yet she wondered. He must’ve been a really special man, strong of heart, to preserve so much of his humanity in the face of the demon.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Spike interrupted.
Her hand sank down onto his chest as she looked into his eyes. They were so blue, sparkling azure pools surrounded by these incredibly thick lashes. “It’s unfair for men to have such lashes,” she blurted out her first thought.
Spike’s laughter vibrated under her fingertips and she felt heat color her cheeks. Stubbornly, she pursed her lips and glared. “Well, it is, you know,” she contended indignantly. “Do you know how much money we spend on lash-extension mascara?”
“You didn’t just wake me up to complain about cosmetics, did ya, kitten?” Spike grinned that infuriating grin, like he knew what she’d been thinking of.
“How do you…” Buffy stopped and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and counted to three. Her hand was still lying on Spike’s chest and she felt the contact burning her skin, tingling on her palm, and the heat crawling up her arm. Slowly she raised her arm and gripped the already cooling mug in both hands. “I brought you supper.”
Carefully, Spike pulled himself to a sitting position, resting his shoulders on the headboard. She noticed the tightening of his jaw and how he momentarily pressed his lips together. As much as he pretended to be fine, he was still in a lot of pain.
She held the mug to his mouth and his lips captured the straw and sucked. Dark red liquid ascended and she watched him swallow the blood in long gulps. She had to smile as she remembered doing this before. As Spike raised his eyebrows in a silent question, she explained.
“Remember Giles’ bathtub? You’ve hated it when I fed you.”
Releasing the straw, Spike smirked. “And you enjoyed it every second, luv. Kept teasing me with your neck, all that Slayer’s blood rushing underneath your tender skin… all that blood just pumping away…”
“You made it so easy for me.” Buffy thought for a moment. Something had always bugged her. “Why did you come to me for help, anyway? How did you know I wouldn’t just kill you?”
Spike took some more gulps of blood before answering her, his voice serious. “I didn’t know, pet. It was a gamble. The demon insisted I go to you, and he was right. I was vulnerable, to humans and, I thought, also to other demons. I could’ve gone into the woods, lived off game and livestock, I suppose. But what kind of life would that ’ve been for a warrior? ‘ave my pride, pet, always had. So I went to the strongest protector there was, and put myself at your mercy. Either you would’ve helped me or you would’ve killed me, clean and honorable. Either way, I would’ve been better off. As it worked out, it was a good decision.”
Buffy smiled. “In the end, it worked out well. Without you, we wouldn’t have defeated Glory, we might not have killed Adam without the data disks you brought us.”
Without you, I wouldn’t be here, feeling so happy, loving you so much… she thought.
Spike cocked his head and looked at her inquiringly. “What’s the matter, pet? You’re lookin’ at me like…”
“It’s nothing…” Buffy’s heart jumped and her throat constricted. Panic rose up and flooded her mind with confusion. How could she tell him? It would be so simple to just say ‘I love you, Spike’. But something stopped her, told her it wasn’t the right moment, told her that something terrible would happen if she did. If she told him, he would leave her, just like her mom left her, like her dad, like Angel and Riley had left her.
“It’s just that I was so worried about you. And now you’re here, all safe, and…” she stumbled on, trying to clamber out of the hole opening underneath her feet.
She took the easy way out, the warrior’s way. She attacked. “Why did you go there, anyway? Digging in that cave? Using so much wood? I can’t believe you were so stupid.”
Buffy glared at him, her hands shaking around the mug. She ripped it away, the straw still between Spike’s lips, sliding out of the cup and spraying droplets of blood all over the white bed cover. Spike took the straw in his hand and looked at her, his eyes warded and cautious.
He spread out his hands, palms up in a soothing gesture. “What got you suddenly in such a snit, kitten?” He slid further up the bed, pressing his back against the headboard.
Buffy lowered her eyes and pointed at the sword, standing until now forgotten at the side of the bed. “You’ve got some explaining to do. Why did you dig there? Was it because of that sword? Why is it so important that you risked your life for it? If you’d died there…” Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes and she angrily brushed them away.
Slowly Spike extended his hand. “I can explain, luv. Just put that mug away.” Buffy placed the nearly empty mug on the bedside table. Then he grabbed her hands, his thumbs tenderly rubbing over her wrists.
Buffy suppressed the urge to pull away from him and tried to relax. She knew she was overreacting, but suddenly all the suppressed anxiety had overwhelmed her. How could he have risked his life now that she’d finally acknowledged the bond between them? It was unfair, since he’d not known, since she hadn’t known at the time. He didn’t know yet, but he could’ve guessed, right? He always seemed to know what she was thinking – didn’t he know that too?
Her shoulders slumped and she nodded. “So explain.”
“It’s your birthday present.”
“My what?”
“The sword, it’s your birthday present. You know, for your birthday next month?”
Confused, Buffy shook her head. “You mean all this digging was just to get me a sword for my birthday? Couldn’t you have simply, you know, bought one, or stolen one? And you know that I have several lying around here already.”
“Ah, luv, but that’s a special one. Saw it when I was digging for the Gem. The Sorcerer who created the Gem also created a sword that could kill even the wearer of the Gem. Sort of as a precaution, I reckon. I wasn’t real interested in bringing a weapon with me that could beat me with the Gem of course. Not that you needed it anyway. ” He shot her an admiring look.
“Explanations, Spike,” Buffy urged. “We don’t have the Gem anymore.”
“Ah, but it doesn’t just help against the wearer of the Gem. It’s supposed to harm and kill all magically protected beings which are otherwise impervious to normal weapons. It’s like a supercharged sword, like a Slayer of a sword. Thought it would fit you. Besides, it’s a beautiful work of art.”
The sword in the corner drew her attention. It was beautiful indeed. She remembered the feeling as she’d held it in her hand, the lightness and perfect balance. She wasn’t sure she liked having a sword with magical powers; it sounded so – Lord of the Ring like. Magic always had consequences. So, what was its prize? Was it paid by nearly losing Spike or was there more to pay? Maybe she was just superstitious.
She slowly pulled her hands out of Spike’s grip and stood up. She felt his eyes follow her as she stepped around the bed and carefully picked up the scabbard. Her hand fastened around the pommel and she slid the blade out a few inches. The light from the bedside table danced on the gleaming, polished metal and the edge broke it into glittering shards of color. A band of intricately chiseled arabesques intertwined with flowers and leaves ran down the length of the blade. The metal had a bluish color, like midday sky on a fresh spring day. It surely looked enchanted.
“May I?” she asked reverently and Spike nodded.
With a soft hiss she pulled the sword completely out of its scabbard. The hilt lay in her hands like it was made for it– neither too large nor too small. The leather binding around the pommel was warm and soft under her grasp, yet firm, giving her a perfect grip. She raised the sword until the tip was at eye level and rotated it. Blue light danced up and down its length as if it was talking to her. She looked over the tip of the blade towards Spike. His eyes were intensely focused on her and she saw admiration in his gaze.
Admiration for her or for the sword?
It didn’t really matter, it was all the same.
“Thank you, Spike. I know it’s not my birthday yet, but it’s a wonderful present.”
“But,” she added before Spike’s pleased smile could spread any further across his face, “if you ever, ever, take a risk like that again, I’ll kill you. Personally. With this sword.”
Willow studied her reflection in the window pane. Her hair hung limp and she had dark shadows under her eyes. When had she last slept? She couldn’t recall.
Absentmindedly, she scratched her itching, blistered skin. Dry flakes rained down to the ground like snow and she stared disgustedly at her dark red stained fingers. If she couldn’t resist the urge to scratch herself to bloody shreds, how could she withstand the demon?
In the background of her mind she felt the static hum of the demon spawn’s presence. Her captor had retreated to the otherworld, but he kept her on a tight leash. She felt the strangling hold of the demon wrap around her neck like a choker, pressing against her windpipe and controlling her voice. Carefully, oh so slowly, she’d poked a mental finger under it, loosening its grip by just a fraction of an inch. But it wasn’t yet wide enough for her to slip a warning out undetected.
Downstairs, she saw movement in the darkness; Elin returning home. As the door opened, a beam of golden lamplight spilled out onto the dark patio, bathing the healer in a warm glow. She heard murmurs wafting through the stillness of the night and a golden haired girl stepped out of the house into the pool of light.
Tara. Her sweet Tara.
She’d been here, and Willow hadn’t noticed her, hadn’t felt her warm, comforting aura. Her fingers pressed against the windowpane as if they could reach through the glass, down to her lover. How had she not sensed her being so near, maybe even sitting just outside her closed door?
Since the rash had spread over her skin, she’d been restricted to her room. Had it only been yesterday? She wasn’t allowed any visitors, but Tara could’ve talked to her through a crack in the door. With longing she watched as her girlfriend waved Elin goodbye and vanished into the darkness.
Willow leaned her brow against the cool sheet of glass and it soothed the headache that was now her constant companion. She wanted to slide down onto the floor and wrap her arms around herself, to curl into a tight ball and finally surrender. The constant struggle had worn her out and her nerves felt taut like a bow string being pulled beyond its capacity. But she had work to do.
In her mind, she formed a delicate cocoon; thin as silk, like spun out of glistening spider webs. It was a veil, nearly transparent and light as morning mist. The demon’s watchdog was alert, but it was also limited she’d found out. At first she’d tried to ward herself by building a solid, massive barrier against her intruder. Immediately he had assaulted it with brute force and she’d barely escaped its crushing destruction with her sanity. Yet delicate workings seem to slip by his radar undetected. So she wrapped herself into her grey shroud of inconspicuousness.
Slowly, she picked up an empty piece of paper, controlling the movement from inside her cocoon while outwardly observing the dancing shadows, cast onto the sidewalk by the moths which danced around the streetlamp.
With jerking motions she started to write.