Title: Requiem for a Fallen Angel
Author: Dana
Content: Supernatural, femme play.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Season 6
Pairings: Willow/Drusilla
Description: Part three of Willow Mine. Buffy finds a surprise in the graveyard.
Setting: Post Grave
Feedback: dana@celticmuse.net
Distribution: Ask first please.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS so please do
not sue me I am only a poor rabid tech.
Heat, bright in its intensity, turned the air into visible waves. It wasn't only the heat that was the problem, the water in the air was. Being outside was unbearable and yet she had no choice. No, she had never had a choice in this. It was a duty, a god given gift. Funny how she had never asked for it. So here she was, walking through a cemetery in the middle of the night in air that was like moving through jello. Somehow the heat had actually gotten to the undead as well. She had yet to find a single vampire on her entire patrol and she was considering just going home. Sighing heavily, she pushed her limp blonde hair out of her face and sat down before a statue of an angel holding a child.
Blue eyes studied the marble. Hopefully, she put a cheek against it and found it warm. Shaking her head she pulled back and looked at it again. Her thoughts wandered as she stared at it, the smooth white marble, and she pondered who it was made for. A child perhaps, or maybe a beloved wife. Not a man, they never gave angels to men. A man got something else, she just wasn't sure what. Perhaps just a solid tower of marble.
Slowly as a feeling of sorrow settled over her, she lifted delicate fingers and traced the name on the bottom of the statue. Elizabetha Nicole Betrin 1789 - 1799. She was right, it was a child, sighing softly she closed her eyes. You pick up these things when you spend all your time in the cemeteries.
Startled, she came back to herself, her thoughts fleeing, and she looked around to find what had put her senses on alert. The cemetery was unnaturally silent. There were no crickets or birds, just a suffocating stillness. A tingle ran down her spine and she got to her feet and scanned the area around her. A flickering caught her eye and she turned, battle senses alert as she looked at the apparition in front of her. Slowly it came into focus. At first a beautiful white dress, antique almost and then the face materialized.
Shock, horror, fear, and shame flooded through her as she stared at Tara's ghost. A hand was raised, reaching for her as blood seeped from the wound and pale lips moved, shaping the accusations in her mind.
"You let me die. Why didn't you protect me?" White dress fluttered in an invisible breeze as she floated closer. "Those people died because of you. If you had stopped him, none of this would have happened."
Buffy found she couldn't move, her mind screamed for her to run away and all she could do was cry. Tears trickled down her face as she tried to deny it all. Yet she knew it was true. She had gotten used to the Trio being ineffectual, hadn't thought that evil could be out in the day. She knew though, deep down she knew she was denying it all. And it was her fault people had died because of her denial. Shuddering, she felt Tara come up behind her, wrapping hands around her body with a lover's caress. "God I'm sorry."
She spoke then, with a whisper, her voice as it was when she was alive. "That's not enough, you must suffer for my death. For the death of others. You are weak."
Those words hurt more than anything. They fulfilled her worries, her fears that she did nothing to protect this world; that all her pain and blood was nothing. She was nothing, she was weak. With a soft wail she fell to the ground, sliding out of her dead friend's grasp and she cried for all that she had failed. She lay there, not noticing when Tara disappeared, until she could not cry any longer. Her fears were all there though, crying had done nothing to help and she wondered briefly if there was anything she could do to make it go away. However she knew, deep down, that nothing would take it away. She was, after all, weak.
Drusilla watched from the shadow of a vine covered crypt, the sight of the crying slayer reduced to a weak being thrilled her. All her dreams were coming true, soon there would be blood and she would have revenge upon the girl who had taken all from her. She smiled as she felt cool arms wind around her waist and turned to see the girl behind her. "You look like the innocent. Take it off, luv." Happily she watched Tara's face slide off and her own childe took form. With joy, she kissed her beloved redhead and pointed to the slayer, laughing happily. "Look little tree, the slayer weeps."
A wicked smile curled across her face and the redhead giggled softly. "She falls so easily."
"Will there be blood soon, beloved?"
Laughing at the eagerness in her sire's voice she slid her hands across the soft flesh of her stomach and to the brunette's breast. Fondling her lover absently she smiled. "Yes, soon there will be blood and we shall swim in it. They will all die after I play with them. It will be such fun."
Sable eyes turned cloudy as Drusilla looked at something only she could see. Delicious pain washed over her and she felt herself quiver with pleasure. "Oh the pain is delightful! The slayer bleeds inside."
Willow licked her lips and nipped at the brunette's milky throat. "Enough with the slayer sire, we have other delights to attend to." With a velvet laugh she and her sire blended into the shadows and engaged in other carnal delights. The sound of crows sang a requiem for a fallen angel.
Author: Dana
Content: Supernatural, femme play.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Season 6
Pairings: Willow/Drusilla
Description: Part three of Willow Mine. Buffy finds a surprise in the graveyard.
Setting: Post Grave
Feedback: dana@celticmuse.net
Distribution: Ask first please.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS so please do
not sue me I am only a poor rabid tech.
Heat, bright in its intensity, turned the air into visible waves. It wasn't only the heat that was the problem, the water in the air was. Being outside was unbearable and yet she had no choice. No, she had never had a choice in this. It was a duty, a god given gift. Funny how she had never asked for it. So here she was, walking through a cemetery in the middle of the night in air that was like moving through jello. Somehow the heat had actually gotten to the undead as well. She had yet to find a single vampire on her entire patrol and she was considering just going home. Sighing heavily, she pushed her limp blonde hair out of her face and sat down before a statue of an angel holding a child.
Blue eyes studied the marble. Hopefully, she put a cheek against it and found it warm. Shaking her head she pulled back and looked at it again. Her thoughts wandered as she stared at it, the smooth white marble, and she pondered who it was made for. A child perhaps, or maybe a beloved wife. Not a man, they never gave angels to men. A man got something else, she just wasn't sure what. Perhaps just a solid tower of marble.
Slowly as a feeling of sorrow settled over her, she lifted delicate fingers and traced the name on the bottom of the statue. Elizabetha Nicole Betrin 1789 - 1799. She was right, it was a child, sighing softly she closed her eyes. You pick up these things when you spend all your time in the cemeteries.
Startled, she came back to herself, her thoughts fleeing, and she looked around to find what had put her senses on alert. The cemetery was unnaturally silent. There were no crickets or birds, just a suffocating stillness. A tingle ran down her spine and she got to her feet and scanned the area around her. A flickering caught her eye and she turned, battle senses alert as she looked at the apparition in front of her. Slowly it came into focus. At first a beautiful white dress, antique almost and then the face materialized.
Shock, horror, fear, and shame flooded through her as she stared at Tara's ghost. A hand was raised, reaching for her as blood seeped from the wound and pale lips moved, shaping the accusations in her mind.
"You let me die. Why didn't you protect me?" White dress fluttered in an invisible breeze as she floated closer. "Those people died because of you. If you had stopped him, none of this would have happened."
Buffy found she couldn't move, her mind screamed for her to run away and all she could do was cry. Tears trickled down her face as she tried to deny it all. Yet she knew it was true. She had gotten used to the Trio being ineffectual, hadn't thought that evil could be out in the day. She knew though, deep down she knew she was denying it all. And it was her fault people had died because of her denial. Shuddering, she felt Tara come up behind her, wrapping hands around her body with a lover's caress. "God I'm sorry."
She spoke then, with a whisper, her voice as it was when she was alive. "That's not enough, you must suffer for my death. For the death of others. You are weak."
Those words hurt more than anything. They fulfilled her worries, her fears that she did nothing to protect this world; that all her pain and blood was nothing. She was nothing, she was weak. With a soft wail she fell to the ground, sliding out of her dead friend's grasp and she cried for all that she had failed. She lay there, not noticing when Tara disappeared, until she could not cry any longer. Her fears were all there though, crying had done nothing to help and she wondered briefly if there was anything she could do to make it go away. However she knew, deep down, that nothing would take it away. She was, after all, weak.
Drusilla watched from the shadow of a vine covered crypt, the sight of the crying slayer reduced to a weak being thrilled her. All her dreams were coming true, soon there would be blood and she would have revenge upon the girl who had taken all from her. She smiled as she felt cool arms wind around her waist and turned to see the girl behind her. "You look like the innocent. Take it off, luv." Happily she watched Tara's face slide off and her own childe took form. With joy, she kissed her beloved redhead and pointed to the slayer, laughing happily. "Look little tree, the slayer weeps."
A wicked smile curled across her face and the redhead giggled softly. "She falls so easily."
"Will there be blood soon, beloved?"
Laughing at the eagerness in her sire's voice she slid her hands across the soft flesh of her stomach and to the brunette's breast. Fondling her lover absently she smiled. "Yes, soon there will be blood and we shall swim in it. They will all die after I play with them. It will be such fun."
Sable eyes turned cloudy as Drusilla looked at something only she could see. Delicious pain washed over her and she felt herself quiver with pleasure. "Oh the pain is delightful! The slayer bleeds inside."
Willow licked her lips and nipped at the brunette's milky throat. "Enough with the slayer sire, we have other delights to attend to." With a velvet laugh she and her sire blended into the shadows and engaged in other carnal delights. The sound of crows sang a requiem for a fallen angel.