Title: The Changing

Author: Gabby2

Rating: Mature for language, violence, and sexual themes.

Summary: About the life and changing of Darla, Angel, Drusilla, and Spike. I took some liberty with some things, but am keeping true to what is said in the show.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The amazing Joss Whedon owns all.

Author's Note: Not my first Buffyverse story, but my first based off of Darla, Angel, Drusilla and Spike. Please leave comments, thoughts and constructive criticism, but please no flames. Enjoy!!

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It was a dull, gray morning and the sky threatened rain. Peddlers began setting out their wares; colorfully woven rugs, hand crafted pots and jewelry, canned preserves and fresh picked fruit and vegetables. Horses were tied to poles, scuffing at the ground with their hooves and nosing through piles of hay. The guard was sitting atop his horse while easily trotting down the road, keeping an eye out. Servants were slowly waking in the homes of the more prominent families; preparing breakfast, feeding the animals and starting their chores.

Philippa Grey slowly rolled off of the hay filled mattress she was laying on. She pushed her wavy blonde hair out of her face and started searching the floor. She quickly found her chemise lying on the floor and pulled it over her head. She yanked on her garters and attached her knee-high stockings to them. Philippa found her dress under a brown wool blanket. After shaking it out she pulled the light purple fabric over her head. She attempted to lace up the back of her corset as best she could. Finding her shoes she pulled those on as well. Glancing back at the man on the bed she grabbed her purse and her cap. Philippa checked her purse to make sure the money was still there and pulled out some hairpins. Winding her loose curls into a bun she quickly pinned them into place. Once she looked significantly respectable she darted out the door.

No one would notice her this time in the morning. A young pale girl running down the street might get more attention later in the day, but among people who did not care about anything else other than their own lives she was practically invisible. It had been a week since Philippa arrived here to the British Virginia Colony in North America. It was the year 1606.

She was one of the youngest ones here that was on her own. She was born in 1590, which today would make her 16 years old. Philippa came by herself to America from Great Britain. Her home was not a place she wanted to be anymore. Her father was an alcoholic who had no problem having his way with her when he was drunk. Her mother stayed at home and tended to the home while her father worked, but she tried to stay out of Philippa's life as much as possible. Despite her father's horrible habit he brought home a large sum of money, thus enabling Philippa to escape.

While at home Philippa had tried to escape by taking solace with men. It all started one evening when she was roaming the dirt roads, avoiding going home to be ravished by her father. She saw a dashing young man come out of a pub. His dark black hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his ice blue eyes were mesmerizing. Judging by his hose, doublet and hat he was clearly the highest in upper class one could be without being royalty. Philippa blushed slightly as he looked at her from across the street. She bent her head down and intended on walking back toward home when a hand grabbed her arm. Startled she swung around and attempted to pull her arm away.

"Beg your pardon, miss. I did not mean to frighten you." It was the young man from the pub. "My name is Rowland Crane."

Philippa gasped when she heard his surname. The Crane's owned a large estate that bordered the ocean. They had a large amount of servants and hired out servants to other homes. They owned several businesses in the area and were quickly expanding. Rowland was the most eligible bachelor in the area and most women would be lucky to make eye contact with him, let alone be standing mere inches from him. She glanced at his perfectly manicured hand on her arm. He let go, but the heat from him still lingered.

"And you are?"

"Oh," Philippa gasped, "Philippa Grey, sir."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Grey. May I inquire as to what you are doing on your own at this time of night?"

"Out for a bit of a walk I suppose."

"Don't you wish to return to the comfort of your own home?"

Philippa shook her head quickly and blushed again. A sly smile suddenly crossed Rowland's face, making him look even more handsome. He gently grabbed her hand and held it between his. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Would you care to join me at mine?"

Before Philippa knew what was going on she was headed to the Crane manor. Rowland let her into the marble foyer. It was beautiful; white marble surrounded her, gold glinted from the crown molding and intricate ornamentation and the sweet smell of incense wafted from an unseen source. Rowland pushed open the polished brown doors that led into the lobby of the grand house. He led her toward a grand staircase, which he started up, and beckoned her to follow. Lifting her dark red skirts Philippa delicately followed him up the stairs. He led her down a hallway and opened another beautifully polished brown door. She stepped inside to what appeared to be his bedroom. To Philippa it was beautiful. The mattress was stuffed with feathers rather than straw. The blankets were not made of wool that kept you awake at night. There was even a wood burning fireplace along the wall.

As Philippa was taking this all in Rowland removed his cape, doublet, hat and boots. He turned to Philippa and gestured toward the bed, "Have a seat, Miss Grey." When she sat he went over and gently removed her shoes. He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. He quickly moved to her neck and left a trail of kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.

"You smell delightful," Rowland murmured.

Philippa felt a tingle throughout her body. She smiled at Rowland as he pulled away and looked into her eyes. She allowed him to gently push her down onto her back on the bed. He was looming over her and looking at her with such hunger Philippa could not even think. She pulled his shirt over his head and admired his toned, bronze body. She allowed him to roll her over so he could untie her corset. He slowly pulled her dress off of her and then removed her chemise. Rowland sat up and allowed her to remove his hose. They sat face to face, Rowland entirely naked and Philippa with only her garters and knee socks on. Rowland caressed her breasts and again lowered her onto the bed. His mouth quickly found hers and started a violent dance with her tongue. Philippa took him into her hand and felt his heartbeat and breathing quicken. Rowland suddenly batted her hand away and pushed his way inside. Philippa gasped, she had never felt anything so gentle before. It did not hurt her like when her father forced himself upon her. They quickly moved together and were lost in the heat of passion. They both let out largely audible moans when they reached climax.

Lying next to each other, sweating and breathing heavily, Philippa's mind wandered. Maybe they would stay together. She could have a better life. She could have a man who loved her. A smile slowly spread across her face. The two of them then both succumbed to sleep.

Philippa awoke to find Rowland still asleep next to her. She got out of bed and dressed quickly. She went over to his side of the bed and kissed him to wake him. He let out a groan and opened his eyes. Seeing her he quickly sat up. He reached under his bed and pulled out a box. A calling card perhaps? Philippa thought to herself.

"Where should I find you again, the next time I'm in need?" Rowland questioned.

"In need?" Philippa responded, perplexed.

"Yes, of your services."

"My services? I beg your pardon?"

Rowland opened the box and pulled out a pull string bag. He opened the bag and dumped some silver shillings onto his hand. He counted them out and handed them to her, "Is that sufficient?"

Philippa's mouth dropped as her hand closed around the coins. Her face turned a dark shade of burgundy and she backed away. Without a reply she whirled around and ran from the room. She spirited herself down the stairs and out the door. She ran as far as she could before she was unable to breathe. She fell to the ground and started crying.

A whore. He thought she was a whore. A woman with loose morals, who would fuck anything for a bit of money. She cried until she could cry no more. She opened her hand and stared at the coins, "Dirty bastard."

Philippa quickly shook the memory from her head. She continued down the road in the now starting rain. She had to get back to the house before it started pouring. She rounded a corner and started down a little dirt road that one might not notice if they were not paying attention. The brown building stood in front of her, not necessarily a welcome sight, but the best she could get. She pushed the door open and found a few of the girls sitting in what was considered the lounge.

"Have a good night?" Isabel questioned as Philippa entered.

Philippa weighed her purse, "Not bad. He was not the most exhilarating job though."

The girls snickered. They all had their fair share of boring and odd customers, but it was always a treat when it was not them who had to deal with the bastard. Any man who paid for sex and then did not to appear to enjoy it was rather pathetic.

"Where is Edmund?" Philippa questioned, glancing around.

"Upstairs," Isabel answered. "In his room."

Philippa nodded and headed up the stairs. She walked down the hallway and found her boss, Edmund, in his room. She knocked lightly on the door and walked in. Setting down her purse she took out a portion of it and handed it over. Edmund took it and smiled at her, "Go get cleaned up and get some actual rest, it'll be a busy night tonight."

Philippa nodded and quickly left the room. She headed into a room where the washtub was placed. Edmund had clearly just filled it with warm water because she could see the steam rising from it. The idea of a bath sounded luxurious. She quickly shed her clothes and grabbed a bar of lye soap from off of a shelf. She slowly lowered herself into the bath and set the soap on the edge of the tub. She unpinned her blonde hair and let it fall around her shoulders. As she leaned her head back against the tub her memories bombarded her again.

After that first night with Rowland, Philippa was mortified. Then she started thinking, Is that all I'm good for? My father rapes me and men use me for sex. Aside from that it as if I do not exist. As the weeks went on she started sleeping with other men just to feel like she was needed. She also saved the money up in a red box hidden under her bed. She would need it when she left to be on her own.

Finally the day came. She heard the ship was coming into port and she could buy passage down at the docks and get to America. While her dad was at work and her mom was out with some of her friends shopping, Philippa quickly packed her things. Once she had her single bag packed she snuck into her parents' bedroom. She knew where her father hid his stash of money and quickly found it. Not even counting she pulled out a sizable chunk of money. She put it back into its place and stuffed the money into her bag. Philippa pulled her cap over her blonde hair and quickly left her house, never looking back.

Once she reached the British Virginia Colony she had set out to find a job. Clearly there was only one thing she thought she could do and there had to be some of that around there. So her first night there she roamed the streets late at night. She met up with a man and quickly wound up on her back in a newly built house. Once the night was over the man asked her, "Are you one of Edmund's girls?" Philippa answered that she was not, but where could she find this Edmund? The man told her and as soon as the sun rose Philippa was on her way. She found the brown house that was out of the way and knocked on the door. By that night she was officially one of Edmund's girls. The other girls that worked for him were all a bit older than her, but Philippa felt more at home here than she ever did back in Great Britain.

Here she was, only a week later, one of the most popular of the girls. Was it her beauty? Her soft blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and smooth pale skin. Was it her attitude? Her aloofness that caused men to want her and then to exult when they finally claimed her. Or what it her skills? She was one of the more skilled in her trade. She was energetic and made the men feel as if they were the only thing that ever existed and that the evening would never end. No matter the reason Philippa was off to a good start.

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Three years had passed by since Philippa had first arrived in North America, it was now 1609. Over the years she had gathered quite a clientele. She was known in other areas than just the town she settled in for her skills. She traveled often and had a large amount of money that she could spend as she wished. Things were not all good for her though.

The church, clearly, condemned her profession and attempted to put Edmund and his girls out of business. Try as they might, they failed. Men did not care if sex was deemed bad; they still wanted it, thus the group stayed in business. Philippa also tended to take ill more easily. There were often times where she would be stuck in bed for days. Edmund had doctors come and check her, but they could find nothing.

Finally one day a new doctor uttered the words that she would never forget, "You are dying."

Philippa lay in bed, shocked at the sudden news. The room was dark and gloomy; also severely empty. The doctor, after diagnosing her, had gone to tell the church; they would be here soon. Despite the fact that they condemned her line of work they would still come here to see if they could sway her view one more time before she passed on. Soon a priest and his acolytes entered the room. His hood was pulled over his face so Philippa could not see it. The acolytes had incense filled containers, which caused her to cough harder than she had before. The priest then started on a rant about how she would not go to Heaven because she was a bad person and so on. Philippa, tired of his rant, finally snapped, "I don't believe in God."

The priest walked over to the side of her bed and peered down at her. He pulled off his hood to reveal his face, "Neither do I."

Philippa gasped when she saw his face. He had feral eyes and sharp teeth. His forehead was creased and bumpy. His mouth also seemed to be perpetually red. Also in an odd way he seemed…delighted.

"Would you like to live forever?" he questioned.

"Of course," Philippa responded.

"Good choice."

The "priest" brushed aside her blonde hair from her neck and bent down. He swiftly bit into her neck and started draining her of her blood. Before he emptied her he pulled away and cut open his wrist with a nail. He stretched his arm out toward Philippa's mouth, "Drink."

Philippa grabbed his arm and yanked it toward her mouth. She drank greedily until she lost consciousness. Next thing she knew was in an old building. She sat up and looked around. There were no windows, no mirrors and many candles were lit. She glanced down at herself and saw a brand new dark blue dress on her body. She smiled as she felt the fabric. She was alive and happy, but then another feeling took her over. Hunger.

Suddenly the door was thrown open. It was the same man who was with her when she was dying. His face had not changed. He walked over to her and put his hand on the table, "I am The Master. I lead a band of vampires called the Order of Aurelius."

Philippa cocked her head at him, "Vampires? There are no such things as vampires."

Suddenly The Master punched her in the face, causing her head to whip around. When she turned back she had morphed into her now true face and growled at him.

"Welcome…Darla," The Master smiled.