Prologue

She opened her eyes slowly and looked around. She felt disoriented. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Then she remembered. She felt a sweeping wave of unwanted emotions pass through her. Everything temporarily went quiet. The stars were silent. She knew what she had done. And she felt guilt.

She cried herself to sleep. When she woke again, one could not tell she had been crying earlier. In fact nothing seemed different about her at all, except her eyes, which now held some unnamable quality which had been absent before. But her madness would hide it well for her, if she tried to hide it. She only hoped he wouldn't notice.

Spike was grateful that the Slayer had held up her end of the deal and not come looking for them, because though he had hightailed it out of Sunnydale, he was only in the next town over. He had gotten them a hotel room –with no windows- for the next two days. Then they would try to catch a plane back to England. Unfortunately, they would probably have to smuggle themselves oversees in the cargo hold to avoid any exposure to sunlight. Unhappy with this prospect, he looked over at the canopy bed on which Drusilla had been lying, essentially motionless, since he had come back from hunting. She was now staring at the canopy unblinkingly. Her right hand, tracing figures in the air, was the only indication that she was conscious. Something was off about her, he decided. Something had happened while he had been out to make her upset.

"Dru, luv, come here," he said from the chair on the other side of the room. Obediently, the dark-haired vampire drifted across the room in her usual, barely-aware manner. She sat down on his lap, as she often did, and draped her arms around his shoulders. But instead of teasing him or spouting off incomprehensible nonsense, she rested her head on his shoulder with her chin tilted down so that he could not look her in the eyes. Suddenly, he noticed she was shaking. "Dru, what's the matter," he asked, a little concerned –well if vampires could truly be concerned- that she had somehow fallen ill again.

"It was quiet for a moment," she told him, "but now it's not. Now it's loud." Her voice wavered strangely with the last word. Spike hadn't a clue what she meant, so he just waited for her to keep talking. After a minute or so, she did. "It's all ugly sounds. I don't like it. And the faces." Her voice cracked and she started to cry. "Too many faces! Too many memories that won't leave me alone. They won't leave me alone!" The things that transpired in the next few minutes were things that appeared to Spike to be coming out of the blue. She buried her face in his shoulder and began all-out sobbing. "Leave me alone!" She obviously wasn't talking about him because she was clinging to him with a vice-like grip. "Leave me alone," she wailed. "Please, go away. I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry! Just leave me alone!" He was so bewildered that he didn't dare say a word. "Spike," she begged, "make it go away, all of it. I don't want to hear voices anymore. Make it stop." Then she spoke in a tone that sounded sane, albeit hysterical. That is when he knew this wasn't just a fit; something was seriously, seriously wrong with his girlfriend. "Lord God, I'm sorry! Forgive me, please! I never asked for any of this! I wanted to be your humble servant, but I was given this. I don't want it anymore. I will do anything to make it stop." Then her raving became a barely audible prayer.

'What the bloody hell is she doing? She can't actually be praying. She is praying. Holy hell, what's going on?' Spike was quite used to his insane girlfriend. He was used to her strange visions. I was not used to hearing her pray to God like some repentant, Christian, human woman. And he had to admit it was unnerving him just a little to see her like this. Alright, more than a little. A lot. He really didn't know what else to do except hold her and let her keep praying.

At last she fell silent and stopped crying, stopped shaking. There were five minutes of very awkward silence. Then he couldn't stand it anymore and ventured, "Are you better now?" Spike was almost afraid of the answer.

Drusilla didn't answer his question. Instead, she murmured, "I love you, Spike."

The blond vampire could not suppress a laugh. "What do you mean, 'I love you', Dru?" He chuckled, not taking her seriously, "You don't love me. Vampires can't really love. They can share affection, but they can't love. You'd need a soul for that, luv." He felt her tense in his arms. He had said it facetiously. Why was it frightening her? Almost nothing frightened Drusilla, but it was clear that she was indeed afraid. Filled with a strange sense of foreboding, he ventured, "Why are you afraid?" She didn't answer. He calmly ordered, "Drusilla, look at me." She didn't obey. He lifted her chin so that she was forced to look at him. Unwillingly, her eyes met his. He gazed into her dark, black eyes and saw for a moment no signs of madness. He saw something instead which he had only seen in the eyes of one other vampire. Only in the eyes of Drusilla's sire, Angel. "I can't believe this," he muttered, his voice hushed with disbelief. Suddenly all of her raving made sense. His voice increased in volume with anger. "This can not be happening!"

Drusilla pulled away from him and retreated to the bed. He stood up and looked down at her with a mixture of disbelief, disappointment, and anger on his face. "Are you implying that you have a soul?" In his opinion, her answer would decide whether he stayed with his sire, or abandoned her.