Disclaimer: Drusilla and Angelus don't belong to me, and I'm not making any
money off this.
Rating: PG
AN: I don't really know where this story came from, but I hope you like it. Please review!
Summary: Why everything Drusilla puts in the ground withers and dies.
Daisies
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"Look what you've done." His voice echoed off the stone walls of the dead church. She'd thought she'd finally escaped him. She should've known better, should have known that he'd find her no matter where she went.
"You're a bad, bad girl. You're the reason they're all dead." As she backed away from him she stumbled, almost tripping on the body of the priest. Drusilla shuddered at the sight of him, throat slit, eyes rolled back. He was a good man: he had given her daisy seeds to make her feel more at home in the nunnery. It was her fault he was dead.
"You killed you mother, killed your father. Your sisters too."
A sob broke from her as the images of her dead family came dancing into her mind. She used to plant daisies with her sisters.
"You're evil; you should've listened to me the first time I told you so. Then maybe all these people wouldn't be dead."
Don't listen to him, she told herself. They used to wait all winter for the yellow flowers to bloom. Don't listen to him.
"You mother knew you were a devil child, didn't she."
Don't listen to him. He kept coming closer, and she kept backing up further.
"You told her about the things you see, and she knew you were evil."
The disgust in her mother's eyes when she had told her, the fear—don't think about it. Don't listen to him. She backed into the table on the alter; startled, she reached for something to steady herself on, knocking the Bible onto the floor.
It fell with a heavy thud. She used to press flowers between its pages—the dried daisies would survive the winter the way the fresh ones would not. She should pick it up; the Good Book shouldn't lie on the floor.
She bent to pick it up.
Before she could touch it he kicked it out of her reach. "Wicked girls can't touch the Book. Tell me you're a wicked girl."
She stayed silent. If she were evil, she wouldn't have been able to plant flowers.
"Say it!" He yelled, pushing her against the table.
"I'm a wicked girl." She said, looking at the floor as the world spun out of control. She had tried so hard to be good.
"That's right you are. Spawn of the devil."
"Spawn of the devil." She repeated softly. It was her fault; she'd killed all of them. God had sent this man to punish her for being evil.
"That's right, Drusilla sweetheart." He kissed her, his lips kiss bruising and hard.
Don't think about his lips on mine. Think about the daisies. But in her mind, the daisies wouldn't grow anymore. She buried the seeds in damp earth, but they didn't bloom like they should have. She was loosing control of herself; her thoughts were becoming scattered, and the daisies withered and died.
Bad girl killed them all, every single flower.
* * *
"Do you like daisies? Hmm? I plant them but they always die. Everything I put in the ground withers and dies."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Rating: PG
AN: I don't really know where this story came from, but I hope you like it. Please review!
Summary: Why everything Drusilla puts in the ground withers and dies.
Daisies
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"Look what you've done." His voice echoed off the stone walls of the dead church. She'd thought she'd finally escaped him. She should've known better, should have known that he'd find her no matter where she went.
"You're a bad, bad girl. You're the reason they're all dead." As she backed away from him she stumbled, almost tripping on the body of the priest. Drusilla shuddered at the sight of him, throat slit, eyes rolled back. He was a good man: he had given her daisy seeds to make her feel more at home in the nunnery. It was her fault he was dead.
"You killed you mother, killed your father. Your sisters too."
A sob broke from her as the images of her dead family came dancing into her mind. She used to plant daisies with her sisters.
"You're evil; you should've listened to me the first time I told you so. Then maybe all these people wouldn't be dead."
Don't listen to him, she told herself. They used to wait all winter for the yellow flowers to bloom. Don't listen to him.
"You mother knew you were a devil child, didn't she."
Don't listen to him. He kept coming closer, and she kept backing up further.
"You told her about the things you see, and she knew you were evil."
The disgust in her mother's eyes when she had told her, the fear—don't think about it. Don't listen to him. She backed into the table on the alter; startled, she reached for something to steady herself on, knocking the Bible onto the floor.
It fell with a heavy thud. She used to press flowers between its pages—the dried daisies would survive the winter the way the fresh ones would not. She should pick it up; the Good Book shouldn't lie on the floor.
She bent to pick it up.
Before she could touch it he kicked it out of her reach. "Wicked girls can't touch the Book. Tell me you're a wicked girl."
She stayed silent. If she were evil, she wouldn't have been able to plant flowers.
"Say it!" He yelled, pushing her against the table.
"I'm a wicked girl." She said, looking at the floor as the world spun out of control. She had tried so hard to be good.
"That's right you are. Spawn of the devil."
"Spawn of the devil." She repeated softly. It was her fault; she'd killed all of them. God had sent this man to punish her for being evil.
"That's right, Drusilla sweetheart." He kissed her, his lips kiss bruising and hard.
Don't think about his lips on mine. Think about the daisies. But in her mind, the daisies wouldn't grow anymore. She buried the seeds in damp earth, but they didn't bloom like they should have. She was loosing control of herself; her thoughts were becoming scattered, and the daisies withered and died.
Bad girl killed them all, every single flower.
* * *
"Do you like daisies? Hmm? I plant them but they always die. Everything I put in the ground withers and dies."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =