A/N: As promised, here is my first ever song fic. The song is Loch Lomond, a Scottish folk song. I played it in band and had a major brain fart: I thought that Angel was Scottish. ^_^ He isn't Scottish. He is Irish. But it was a really good idea, anyway, so we'll just PRETEND that he's Scottish and not Irish, just for this fanfic. Anyway, Angel had a girlfriend back in "Scotland" - Emilia. I think that's a Spanish name since I found it in House of the Scorpion, but WHATEVER. Her name is Emilia, so deal with it. Occasionally called Emmy. It would be shortened to Lia, but his name was William, so it might have been kind of confusing.

This story consists of Angel composing mental letters to Emilia in various stages of his immortality/vampire-ness. I like to think I'm going to do it well, but who knows, you know? You know the drill. Review, pretty please.

The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks: Chapter One

You take the high road, and I'll take the low road, and I'll get to Scotland before you.

Dearest Emilia,

A strange woman in an alleyway. I suppose I should have realized: what normal, sane woman walks alone near bars that late at night? The woman is neither normal nor sane. On second thought, perhaps she is sane, but certainly not to the point of you, my Emmy.

She calls herself Darla. It's a strange name; definitely not Scottish or Irish. English, perhaps, though she speaks without trace of any accent whatsoever. In point of fact, she is from the new world - the Virginia colony. She speaks of a place called Jamestown near a river. She is brave to risk the trip there and back again without even getting seasick once, or so she told me.

I suppose I should tell you what's happening to me.

I have turned into a vampire. An unholy creature that walks at night. I fear churches, for they contain crosses, holy water, and the essence of God. God is both inside of the church and carried in his people - he is in their minds, their spirits, their voices, their moods; everything that escapes them in aura or physically contains him. It sickens Darla and gives me a sort of thrill - these people have no idea of what walks among them in the world. You have no idea either since I never intend to send this letter to you or have any contact with you at all. I can't stand to think of you, for fear that Darla will know. I cannot think of you at any rate; you mean nothing to me now. I am above you. I have no soul; no conscience, I can do what I like without any interference.

I could kill you in the blink of an eye and think nothing of it.