Disclaimer: My Fan Fic has a first name... It's "Don't-Sue-Me-Joss-Whedon".... My bologna has a second name... It's "M-E-Y-E-R"...

Aw crap, now I'm getting sued by both Joss/ME/UPN AND Oscar Meyer... And I don't even -like- hot dogs!

Summary: The year is 1880 and Cecily has just brushed off William. ("Fool For Love") How will the repercussions turn her to the world of vengeance and the alias of Halfrek?

A/N: Thanks for reading (in advance)... And thanks even more for reviewing! (In advance... But I mean it!) Tell me what you think, and I hope you stick this one out. I actually have a lot of ideas for this one! Woohoo!

Vengeance Is Thy Name

Cecily Woodsworth stood on the fringe of a conversation, idly fluttering her white laced fan. The air held a smoky quality to it as a faint tobacco scent drifted from the men's sitting room. Her large brown eyes, doeish in quality, followed the movements of the animated speaker with politeness, but her mind was on anything but the tastefully humorous anecdote. Her words to William earlier in the evening plagued her conscience-- though he had caught her at a bad time to profess his love.

Mere moments before she had unwittingly entered into a reading of William's latest tribute to her beauty, she had been composing herself in her room, painstakingly covering the streaks that tears had left in their wake on her powered face. If it was "frowned" upon for guests to break down during a party, imagine the stress on a hostess for perfect amiability.

Still, bad occurrences were no excuse for improper behavior. While some in Cecily's circle prided themselves on their biting and caustic wit, she had been raised to treat others in a genteel and kindly manner.

*Perhaps that is why I attract the social rejects. I'm just too nice.* an inner voice reasoned. *Look at Marguerite Cedarblade, soon to be Mrs. Richard Jones. Surely she didn't acquire such a fortuitous match by allowing poorer men to dote on her. Really, it was the right time to set that William straight... Although perhaps I needn't have put it so bluntly.* Cecily recalled the destroyed look in his eyes when she had stood up, landing her final blow.

"You're beneath me."

The wretched thing; his lower lip actually had quivered. When he shook his head in disbelief, the unfashionable mop of sandy hair wiggled comically on his head and his thick glasses seemed ready to fall into his lap. His hands which he had been wringing nervously in his lap sat still, stunned by her comment. His odd cheekbones seemed even more pronounced as he sucked in his breath, obviously shaken. The poor, wretched thing. But still, it had been necessary. There was no point in letting such unreciprocated feelings ferment any longer; it was just cruel.

"Don't you think?"

A voice interrupted Cecily's private musings, jarring her back to reality. Everyone involved in the conversation that Cecily had been -pretending- to be involved in looked to her for her reply. Smiling graciously, always the perfect hostess, she fluttered her fan.

"Don't I think? Of course not, Richard. That is why I leave it up to you." The men and women chuckled appreciatively while Richard carried out the rest of the his conversation with a man beside him. Cecily silently reproached herself for spacing out and gracefully made her way to a sofa where Marie Kingsley, her most bosom friend, had just seated herself and was subtly gesturing to her.

Fanning out her ivory gown behind her, Cecily seated herself, immediately grasping Marie's hand in friendship.

"I have had the most -dreadful- night," she complained quietly, for it would never do to be labeled a whiner. "I must tell you all about it when you accompany me to the country in a fortnight... You are still coming, are you not?" Marie smiled widely and nodded.

"Of course. You know I never cancel on you, Cecily. Life would be ever so droll." Marie's twinkling blue eyes were brimming with the excitement of anticipation. She continued, "How I wish all these people would just leave, however. I know they claim to be your family's friends, but honestly! Have you ever seen so many insincere 'friends' in one room?" Cecily giggled and motioned for Marie to quiet down with a careless wave.

The remainder of the evening was spent in happy company for Cecily, allowing her to nearly forget the troubles of the night. The nagging whispers of guilt subsided when she decided on writing William a letter of apology for her harshness the next day. The upper-crust part of her knew it was not proper-- a lady of good standing should never be required to explain herself to others; but the conscious, gentle part of her felt morally remiss having shot down such a nice man in such a rude manner. Certainly he deserved an explanation... The guilt felt assuaged by this promise of tomorrow and allowed her to enjoy herself.

The guests seemed contented with the party and many left unusually late (barring impromptu exits by certain unwanted suitors...). It was all Cecily could do to keep a yawn from surfacing as she embraced each as they departed. Marvin, the butler, stood by the door, helping the ladies and gentlemen with their coats and Jacob, the footman, saw that each guest were delivered to their coaches safely. With the rumors of "animal" attacks recently, there was nothing too superfluous to ensure the safety of the wealthy.

Soon enough there were only three. Cecily exchanged polite, but somewhat strained pleasantries with her parents before making for her bedchamber. Her personal maid, Lydia, had prepared chamomile tea and lain her nightdress on her canopied bed for her. Dragging her tea to the bedside table, she undid her dress (aided by Lydia) and slipped under the covers. Her former governess turned maid (by a small scandal) smiled softly at her and retrieved the book which Cecily had been reading for the past few nights.

"Honestly, child, do you really think it is proper for a gentlewoman, such as yourself, to be reading such atrocities?" Lydia clucked her tongue, but handed her charge the lengthy book entitled "Terror on the Streets of London" just the same. Cecily merely smiled and waved to her goodnight before settling in for a night of vicarious horror.

+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+

Two, uneventful weeks passed slowly as the Woodsworth family prepared for their summer in the country. When she was little, Cecily used to throw fits about going to their estate, complaining about the isolation, until Lydia had explained to her that people in the country were even more inclined to give parties than when they were in town. That had appeased her.

The day they were scheduled to leave arrived, but Marie's unexplained tardiness delayed the departure. Jacob offered his mistress a ride up the street and around the corner to the Kingsley's townhouse, but Cecily declined gratefully, offering to walk instead. This fetched her pointed looks of disapproval from both parents, but without any verbal objection, she considered herself permitted the short walk to check on the delay. The day was gloomy-- an overcast sky threatened drizzles and sticking humidity, but mainly blocked out the high, summer sun. There was no breeze to be spoken of while Cecily made her way up the street; trees stood perfectly still, seemingly at attention... Waiting for something...

A glimmer of white to her right detracted her attention from the road and into a side alley. Squinting her eyes, Cecily caught a glimpse of a blue bonnet and fiery red hair. A cold, sick feeling clenched at her stomach and she made her way into the dank alley, cautiously avoiding rotting garbage and spoiled waste. She craned her neck for any signs of Marie... It was the hair that had set off those warning bells in her head; no one else had hair quite that shade. Timidly, as if suddenly afraid to hear her own voice lest it relay the fear pitting itself in her stomach, she called her friend's name once, then twice. Her keen sense of hearing was rewarded with the sounds of a struggle; muffled voices and scraping feet.

Cecily turned the corner and gagged at the sight that welcomed her. Marie's bonnet lay strewn carelessly to the side of the slimy brick wall, but it was her dress that captured Cecily's morbid attention. *It used to be white, I think* she thought from within a daze. She could hardly tell anymore; it was stained crimson, a living, flowing color of death. Belatedly realizing there must be a killer involved, she frantically glanced around. That was when she noticed him... He hadn't moved since she had turned the corner. His eyes were frozen on her face, on the "o" of horror her perfect mouth formed. He blinked when she noticed him, though, and began to shake his way out of the thrall she seemed to hold on him. With preternatural speed and predation reflexes, he leapt across the quickly-cooling body toward Cecily, his sandy mop of a hair flopping after hin, but it was too late. In those moments of his study of her mouth she had fled toward her home as quickly as her stunned body could take her.

*There should be grief* she realized while madly dashing away from that accursed alley. But there was but one thought in her head.

*William... OhGodWilliam... How could William...? I wish I had remembered to send that letter...*



TBC... Count on it.