She's hungry, so so hungry now and she's been starving ever since she met Daddy and everything she was before begets everything she is today so she was hungry back then too, and there's
Spider-tingles crawling up and down her legs now and if flesh can crawl can't it just slither or fly or simply run away from her like the rest of the pretty things she's just trying to make friends with and why why why! won't they play nice so she doesn't have to *make* them be quite and then they don't come anymore when she calls them, poor poor things Mummy'll make it all better, Mother will make it all
Ghosts of little tiny legs dancing on her dead skin making it shiver and oh she feels like crying and screaming and laughing all at once when the ghosts turn into raiser-sharp sharp claws and she forgets the difference between pain and pleasure and remembers that Daddy always taught her that they were the same thing anyway when Daddy hurts her but no, no Daddy's dead dead and never never coming back but he's hurting her anyway through all of her lovely Children and it feels so so so good
And Grandmother's always so much more fun when she's angry and now's she's screaming and crying and it's got to be Daddy's fault and yes yes yes the stars are all yelling that Daddy's been wicked and oh Grandmother reeks of him again and again and again
Crying, blood that drips down Grandmum's face and landing all over the lovely white dress that some charming little things was going to wear to her wedding and make her daddy so proud... And water soaks so easy into the pretty white lace like flowers drinking in the morning dew but no, no, never as sweet and just as delicious. And Grandmother tastes like winter and smoke and new copper pennies drowning in honey and always smells like Daddy no matter how she washes when she's never never dirty
"Don't you feel the cold, Dru?"
But she doesn't feel anything. Nothing nothing but the hunger that gnaws and grows and claws at her from the inside and the burning of the stars that only she can see and hear and taste and touch burning burning burning that hurts so much and she's never never cold because the fire is always inside her like the voices and the power and all the pretty pictures that dance behind her eyes
"Isn't this perfection? Isn't *this* perfect? You can't tell me this isn't what *she* could give! You can't tell me that *I'm* not better than some kid! You can't tell me I'm not *perfect*, you can't! You can't you can't you can't!"
Raiser-sharp claws pulling away layers of white, sharp sharp fingers keep scratching until all the white bleeds red red like her lips and all the cloth Grandmother spends so much more time out of than in
"Aren't souls supposed to love? Aren't you supposed to be able to love me *now*? Aren't you supposed to even care?"
Humming and whispers and screams all crying out and nothing makes it stop like the pain does all red and pretty lights that outshine all the faces of the victims that she doesn't bother to save because her mommy always said she was wicked and why couldn't she be good like her sisters but her sisters never felt. like. this.
Burning away everything she is and the blood like holy communion running down her legs and past her lips and in in in as much as out always balance everything or else and don't you know how hard your father works to feed you but
Doesn't matter now, nothing matters when you're dead and the ghost-fangs are biting biting everywhere but never lapping at the blood without permission because Grandmother was always big on tradition but she doesn't bloody well care as she tilts her head with all the pretty dark curls that keep threatening to fly away, tilt tilts her twisted little snake-face as an offering and then yes, yes, there there there!
Hand's playing with her, opening and tickling and entering one at a time like good little soldiers all lined up and she always loved telling Daddy which ones got to die for God and Country and Daddy would just laugh and tell her what a good girl she was but something deep deep down told her that good girls never have any fun at all and who would want to be good when bad did *that* with her pretty white fingers and her blood red mouth and cold cold tongue but
Who cares about cold as long as someone's always around to do *that*, Father Son or Holy Ghost like a clover leaf, all separate but all are one to her, her beautiful family the holy trinity now
But Daddy's dead with soul-poison and her William always eager to follow Daddy's foot falls into Hell all for a Slayer who didn't want to say yes
But naughty little girls always pay at the end of the story so she mustn't worry her pretty little head about the bad Slayer who took away her Baby and made Daddy turn Grandmother into so much pretty dust, mustn't worry about the Slayer who left Miss Edith all alone at the playground for anyone to find and care for and
Breaking like the light burning over her skin cracking her into thousands of tiny pieces that never never fit together except when the stars come crashing down and the moon starts to scream through her still veins and she's open and crying out through her oh so pointy teeth and clutching the sheets, so red now from all the bloody and yes! yes! yes! yes! YES!
Silent now, Grandmum slithering up her body and smiling, stroking her face and no anger now, still consumed by daddy but no more pain, no more
"Shhh... Sh... It's alright now, Dru honey. We lasted without him for this long, we can do it again, right? Right. Let's go away, just you and me, far far away. I hear Florence is beautiful this time of year."
And she just smiles and says "I'm hungry." And Grandmother laughs and pets her hair and
"I know, darling, I know."
Spider-tingles crawling up and down her legs now and if flesh can crawl can't it just slither or fly or simply run away from her like the rest of the pretty things she's just trying to make friends with and why why why! won't they play nice so she doesn't have to *make* them be quite and then they don't come anymore when she calls them, poor poor things Mummy'll make it all better, Mother will make it all
Ghosts of little tiny legs dancing on her dead skin making it shiver and oh she feels like crying and screaming and laughing all at once when the ghosts turn into raiser-sharp sharp claws and she forgets the difference between pain and pleasure and remembers that Daddy always taught her that they were the same thing anyway when Daddy hurts her but no, no Daddy's dead dead and never never coming back but he's hurting her anyway through all of her lovely Children and it feels so so so good
And Grandmother's always so much more fun when she's angry and now's she's screaming and crying and it's got to be Daddy's fault and yes yes yes the stars are all yelling that Daddy's been wicked and oh Grandmother reeks of him again and again and again
Crying, blood that drips down Grandmum's face and landing all over the lovely white dress that some charming little things was going to wear to her wedding and make her daddy so proud... And water soaks so easy into the pretty white lace like flowers drinking in the morning dew but no, no, never as sweet and just as delicious. And Grandmother tastes like winter and smoke and new copper pennies drowning in honey and always smells like Daddy no matter how she washes when she's never never dirty
"Don't you feel the cold, Dru?"
But she doesn't feel anything. Nothing nothing but the hunger that gnaws and grows and claws at her from the inside and the burning of the stars that only she can see and hear and taste and touch burning burning burning that hurts so much and she's never never cold because the fire is always inside her like the voices and the power and all the pretty pictures that dance behind her eyes
"Isn't this perfection? Isn't *this* perfect? You can't tell me this isn't what *she* could give! You can't tell me that *I'm* not better than some kid! You can't tell me I'm not *perfect*, you can't! You can't you can't you can't!"
Raiser-sharp claws pulling away layers of white, sharp sharp fingers keep scratching until all the white bleeds red red like her lips and all the cloth Grandmother spends so much more time out of than in
"Aren't souls supposed to love? Aren't you supposed to be able to love me *now*? Aren't you supposed to even care?"
Humming and whispers and screams all crying out and nothing makes it stop like the pain does all red and pretty lights that outshine all the faces of the victims that she doesn't bother to save because her mommy always said she was wicked and why couldn't she be good like her sisters but her sisters never felt. like. this.
Burning away everything she is and the blood like holy communion running down her legs and past her lips and in in in as much as out always balance everything or else and don't you know how hard your father works to feed you but
Doesn't matter now, nothing matters when you're dead and the ghost-fangs are biting biting everywhere but never lapping at the blood without permission because Grandmother was always big on tradition but she doesn't bloody well care as she tilts her head with all the pretty dark curls that keep threatening to fly away, tilt tilts her twisted little snake-face as an offering and then yes, yes, there there there!
Hand's playing with her, opening and tickling and entering one at a time like good little soldiers all lined up and she always loved telling Daddy which ones got to die for God and Country and Daddy would just laugh and tell her what a good girl she was but something deep deep down told her that good girls never have any fun at all and who would want to be good when bad did *that* with her pretty white fingers and her blood red mouth and cold cold tongue but
Who cares about cold as long as someone's always around to do *that*, Father Son or Holy Ghost like a clover leaf, all separate but all are one to her, her beautiful family the holy trinity now
But Daddy's dead with soul-poison and her William always eager to follow Daddy's foot falls into Hell all for a Slayer who didn't want to say yes
But naughty little girls always pay at the end of the story so she mustn't worry her pretty little head about the bad Slayer who took away her Baby and made Daddy turn Grandmother into so much pretty dust, mustn't worry about the Slayer who left Miss Edith all alone at the playground for anyone to find and care for and
Breaking like the light burning over her skin cracking her into thousands of tiny pieces that never never fit together except when the stars come crashing down and the moon starts to scream through her still veins and she's open and crying out through her oh so pointy teeth and clutching the sheets, so red now from all the bloody and yes! yes! yes! yes! YES!
Silent now, Grandmum slithering up her body and smiling, stroking her face and no anger now, still consumed by daddy but no more pain, no more
"Shhh... Sh... It's alright now, Dru honey. We lasted without him for this long, we can do it again, right? Right. Let's go away, just you and me, far far away. I hear Florence is beautiful this time of year."
And she just smiles and says "I'm hungry." And Grandmother laughs and pets her hair and
"I know, darling, I know."