Disclaimer: I own nothing, don't claim to, so please don't sue.
This is merely pointless, plotless fluff (my specialty) about Dru.
The Song the Stars Sing
They sing, the night, the moon, the stars. Their humming is the loudest; I can hear them in the day, telling me things that they've seen, things they never tell anybody else. I am special, they love me most. I play with them, naming them, calling them William and Liam, all of them the same, I know they are different, but this fun, this is freedom, this is a game. I like games, having tea parties with Miss Edith, she is so demanding, playing with my food, dolls themselves in so many ways, on strings that the stars weave for them playing by their own rules, they're not always fair, always changing, never the same. That's why I give them all the same name, teaching them lessons, telling them to be fair.
I play that I'm their mommy, punishing them, telling me their secrets. They're my mommy too, telling me stories at night. Stories of death, I like those ones, but also, stories of yesterday, of tomorrow, of people, of who they're going to be. I see them growing, and then, I see them dying. Each one, time and time again, dropping dead, always when they don't expect it. They never do.
I did, I knew my own, and it scared me when it didn't come true, the stars lied to me, tricked me. I didn't die; I was cursed, like Daddy. I'm not happy, I'm alone, the stars aren't near enough to satisfy me, and this makes them sad. I want to be surprised, Spike used to, trying to be brave, to be what I needed, although I knew he never could. It was fun to see him try. He's gone now, changed like Daddy, he reeks of love, of life, I knew before he did, both of them, what they were going to be. I tried to change it, but I couldn't the stars knew it couldn't be.
I hate the stars, the secrets I can never change, the truths that feel like uck on the skin that peels like silk from the worm. I wish I could tell them what I see, make them all understand the clarity that gets confused. But I know, I see, I am. I see that the Scoobies are fooling themselves, evil isn't where they're thinking to look, its within them, deep down, and it lives, devours, and will never go away. The witch knows, she sees, and she will never tell, it's a part of her, the song the stars sings, and she hears. She knows it can never change, if evil dies, so will they. But we can't die. Evil isn't a thing, it isn't me, or Spike or even Angelus, its what we listen too, the song it sings to us, we have to hear it for it to consume us. They're now deaf.
I see Daddy, trying to make right the wrongs he's done, the ones I been proud of. No one was like my Daddy, not even my son—he made the stars quiver. He doesn't know that he's only making it worse, making the stars angry and losing the road he wants to travel, its paved with good intentions, leading him straight to the hell he's destined to return too. He knows this, and it scares him, he reeks of fear, of love... he broods.
I see Spike with him now, on the road to hell. I already live it, traveling along its boarders, inviting people in, making them see it in my eyes, their deaths by my hands. Its fun, they fear and they die. Willy doesn't fear, not any more, he's too full of love to know. He's always been like that. But for the first time, he's starting to love himself, to find his own way among the stars. They're blurry now, when I think I see him and Daddy within them, they blink. Willy was a poet, he wrote things about me that he never showed anyone... but the stars knew, so did I. They sang me his rhymes before they fell in against themselves. They were always bad, but that's okay. His poetry was always in his heart, there it was beautiful, there it sang, still sings louder than the stars themselves. I miss that song: I miss my Willy, my Daddy, and Grand mommy too. But they are not lost to me; the stars say that I will find them again.
I look to the stars and see my past with my family, and sometimes I see a future too.
This is merely pointless, plotless fluff (my specialty) about Dru.
The Song the Stars Sing
They sing, the night, the moon, the stars. Their humming is the loudest; I can hear them in the day, telling me things that they've seen, things they never tell anybody else. I am special, they love me most. I play with them, naming them, calling them William and Liam, all of them the same, I know they are different, but this fun, this is freedom, this is a game. I like games, having tea parties with Miss Edith, she is so demanding, playing with my food, dolls themselves in so many ways, on strings that the stars weave for them playing by their own rules, they're not always fair, always changing, never the same. That's why I give them all the same name, teaching them lessons, telling them to be fair.
I play that I'm their mommy, punishing them, telling me their secrets. They're my mommy too, telling me stories at night. Stories of death, I like those ones, but also, stories of yesterday, of tomorrow, of people, of who they're going to be. I see them growing, and then, I see them dying. Each one, time and time again, dropping dead, always when they don't expect it. They never do.
I did, I knew my own, and it scared me when it didn't come true, the stars lied to me, tricked me. I didn't die; I was cursed, like Daddy. I'm not happy, I'm alone, the stars aren't near enough to satisfy me, and this makes them sad. I want to be surprised, Spike used to, trying to be brave, to be what I needed, although I knew he never could. It was fun to see him try. He's gone now, changed like Daddy, he reeks of love, of life, I knew before he did, both of them, what they were going to be. I tried to change it, but I couldn't the stars knew it couldn't be.
I hate the stars, the secrets I can never change, the truths that feel like uck on the skin that peels like silk from the worm. I wish I could tell them what I see, make them all understand the clarity that gets confused. But I know, I see, I am. I see that the Scoobies are fooling themselves, evil isn't where they're thinking to look, its within them, deep down, and it lives, devours, and will never go away. The witch knows, she sees, and she will never tell, it's a part of her, the song the stars sings, and she hears. She knows it can never change, if evil dies, so will they. But we can't die. Evil isn't a thing, it isn't me, or Spike or even Angelus, its what we listen too, the song it sings to us, we have to hear it for it to consume us. They're now deaf.
I see Daddy, trying to make right the wrongs he's done, the ones I been proud of. No one was like my Daddy, not even my son—he made the stars quiver. He doesn't know that he's only making it worse, making the stars angry and losing the road he wants to travel, its paved with good intentions, leading him straight to the hell he's destined to return too. He knows this, and it scares him, he reeks of fear, of love... he broods.
I see Spike with him now, on the road to hell. I already live it, traveling along its boarders, inviting people in, making them see it in my eyes, their deaths by my hands. Its fun, they fear and they die. Willy doesn't fear, not any more, he's too full of love to know. He's always been like that. But for the first time, he's starting to love himself, to find his own way among the stars. They're blurry now, when I think I see him and Daddy within them, they blink. Willy was a poet, he wrote things about me that he never showed anyone... but the stars knew, so did I. They sang me his rhymes before they fell in against themselves. They were always bad, but that's okay. His poetry was always in his heart, there it was beautiful, there it sang, still sings louder than the stars themselves. I miss that song: I miss my Willy, my Daddy, and Grand mommy too. But they are not lost to me; the stars say that I will find them again.
I look to the stars and see my past with my family, and sometimes I see a future too.