A/N: Apologies for the long hiatus, I'm slowly getting back into this, apologies for the very short update, but I just wanted to update something to keep myself going and writing.
Pam had been sat by door smothered by her own grief for a good hour or so until she felt a thread of pain in her chest that didn't stem from her own non-beating heart.
Instinctively her hand went to her chest, and she felt it pulse again, there was so much pain packed in that teather that held the pair as one.
"Tara as your maker I command you to open up this door." Pam stuttered through bloody sobs.
"I can't." Came the strained voice through the door.
"I can barely move Pam, I'm too weak."
Pam snorted in anger. Rising to her feet in a blur she once more battered her fists on the door.
"I don't fucking care my precious one." She called out her voice laced with pissed of sarcasm.
"Drink some of that vile tru blood that I can smell from here, and work your shit out!"
"I command you Tara do it now."
Pam could hear the clatter of bottles as her clumsy Progeny knocked over a couple as she dutifully followed her Maker's commands. Though it was not done without a litany of pissed of muttering of foul words and wishes.
Pam didn't care what Tara thought of her right now, she does needed to see her, to hold her in her arms. To batter her into submission.
As time slowed and moments dragged, there was an eventual, beep, beep, beep then click. As Tara unlocked her door, Pam stood back shakily already nervous of what she might find.