I've been reading a translation of the poetic Edda, a collection of Icelandic epics on which we base a could deal of what we know about Norse Mythology. I was inspired to write this series of drabbles (which have nothing to do with the poetic Edda). There is a minor concession to poetic form, and many people will not be happy with the way the story unfolds. I hope they will enjoy the drabbles anyway.

Immediately, post-NFA.

The Room

Spike's cursing, the scent

of Angel's blood, Anya's excited query: "Xander? Is Xander all right?"

Faith looked around the room, surprise on her face. "Whoa! You guys are all dead. This hell or something?"

"You were both killed by the ubervamps? What's he doing here, then?" Anya pointed at Angel.

Spike frowned. "Brought down the Hellmouth over a year ago."

"More like six," Faith whispered.

A door swung open silently, beckoning them.

"Huh. Must all be here. Looks like we have an invite," Spike said.

Angel nodded. "Shall we go?"

Spike held his elbows out. Anya shrugged, saying why not?

Anya's Room

Children's laughter, the scent of pine, the crinkle of wrapping paper. The family didn't see the four ghosts who entered the room.

"Look, Daddy!" The youngest girl held up an ant farm for Xander to admire.

Xander grinned in response, throwing his arm around a beautiful woman, and kissing her. "Mommy told Santa you wanted one."

Spike put his hand on Anya's shoulder.

"It's alright," Anya whispered, "I wanted him to be happy with me, but as long he's happy..."

"Let's move on," Angel suggested.

Faith looked back after they moved through the next door, and realized Anya was gone.

Faith's Room

Shrieks of pain, the scent of blood, the sobbing of the damned. The cacophony swallowed Wesley's moans. The knife sliced through his flesh, re-opened scars, scraped along bone.

Faith's blow sent the dungeon-master flying. "I'll take his place."

"No. It's not possible. I couldn't allow…" Wesley couldn't keep the hope from his eyes.

"Go." Faith said. Angel folded Wesley into his arms, and she rolled onto the slab.

"I'll find a way to get you out," Wesley whispered. "You won't be here forever."

Spike kicked another door open; they barreled through. Only Spike and Angel arrived on the other side.

The Next Room

Silence, the scent of perfume, a gasp of surprise. Buffy jerked around, scanning the room, looking right through them.

"Bugger," Spike snarled. "This room yours, or mine?" He hesitated: Angel didn't.

Angel put his mouth next to Buffy's ear. "Buffy? Can you hear me?"

Buffy swatted the air, then froze. "Angel?" she whispered, turning to face him, wonder growing on her face. "Angel?"

Spike ran, halting at the open door. He closed his eyes, afraid to turn around, afraid to go forward.

The sound of a kiss decided him.

"Nothing for you here, Spike," he told himself.

He stepped through.

The Last Room

The soft croon of a lullaby, the scent of lilac-water, a gasp of delight. Drusilla saw him instantly, opened her arms. "I've missed you so."

Spike hung back, rueful smile on his face. "Our own personal hells? That what this is all about?"

Drusilla hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder, rocking. Spike stroked her hair and sighed. "Well, as hells go, guess this one isn't so bad."

"You've all been bad children," she whispered, "but then you were good. You've earned both heaven and hell."

Drusilla raised her head. "And eternity with someone who can give you both."