Author: Lucinda
rating: pg13
main characters: Spike, Dru
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me)
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set in season
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."
-- She walks in beauty, Byron
She looked so peaceful, resting there. Her dark hair spilled around her head and shoulders like a cloud, a dark halo around his dark goddess. She was radiant, her skin gleaming in the moonlight like pearls. She was beautiful, glorious, worthy of the finest and most eloquent poetry being offered to her in homage.
Of course, everything would change when she woke up. She was wonderfully beautiful, but his love was hardly a silent woman. She was always singing, humming, talking tot he stars or those damn dolls of hers. And while her voice was lovely and melodious, if you listened too closely it could drive you almost as off balance as she was.
Dearly as he loved her, Spike had to face reality sometimes. Reality was, Drusilla was insane.
She was pure grace and poetry in motion. She danced with a sinuous and seductive grace, like flowing water, like the night wind that caressed the skin. She could run as swiftly as the nimble deer, leaping after her prey with a lilting laugh, giggling as she ripped open their throats. She was like the shadow of quicksilver when she ran.
Her rage was like the fury of the wildest storm, with loud shrieks and the occasional howl that could chill the blood of even the most ruthless vampire. Her fury could come as swiftly as the lightning, as undeniable as the thunder, and blow over as quickly as a summer shower.
When she was delighted, then she was as gleeful and energetic as a playful kitten, sly and quick, with swift swipes of sharp claws and silken fingers, petal soft lips. Her eyes could show her every emotion as clearly as the printed word.
But all of that had changed in Prague. She'd tried a little too much, yet another of her excessive and delightful plans. Only this time, she hadn't been swift enough to run away. This time, she'd been cornered, been attacked by the survivors, the families of her victims. He'd barely managed to rescue her, and she had been so injured, so weakened by the whole terrible mess that he'd feared she would fade away, drift to sleep beside him and he'd wake to a scattering of dust in place of his dark goddess.
Her energy was gone, and he worried so much about her. The wounds had closed, but she was still so weak, having lost weight, becoming paler, almost translucent. She was still beautiful, still his moon and stars, his dark and glorious goddess, but she was just so weak...
Spike brushed his fingers over Dru's cheek, his soft words a promise. "Don't worry, baby. I'll find a way to make you all better again. Then it can be just like it was before."
Her dark lips, stained with the blood of her victims, curled up slightly, into a delicate smile. She was a delicate beauty, too fragile, too elegant for the day. And he would find a way for them to once again rule the night. For her.
end Dark Beauty.
rating: pg13
main characters: Spike, Dru
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' (creation of Joss Whedon & a whole lot of other people who aren't me)
distribution: Jinni's Quickfics, Paula, anyone else please ask.
notes: response to Jinni's Weekly Poetry Challenge (week 3, Poetry Quote below). Set in season
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."
-- She walks in beauty, Byron
She looked so peaceful, resting there. Her dark hair spilled around her head and shoulders like a cloud, a dark halo around his dark goddess. She was radiant, her skin gleaming in the moonlight like pearls. She was beautiful, glorious, worthy of the finest and most eloquent poetry being offered to her in homage.
Of course, everything would change when she woke up. She was wonderfully beautiful, but his love was hardly a silent woman. She was always singing, humming, talking tot he stars or those damn dolls of hers. And while her voice was lovely and melodious, if you listened too closely it could drive you almost as off balance as she was.
Dearly as he loved her, Spike had to face reality sometimes. Reality was, Drusilla was insane.
She was pure grace and poetry in motion. She danced with a sinuous and seductive grace, like flowing water, like the night wind that caressed the skin. She could run as swiftly as the nimble deer, leaping after her prey with a lilting laugh, giggling as she ripped open their throats. She was like the shadow of quicksilver when she ran.
Her rage was like the fury of the wildest storm, with loud shrieks and the occasional howl that could chill the blood of even the most ruthless vampire. Her fury could come as swiftly as the lightning, as undeniable as the thunder, and blow over as quickly as a summer shower.
When she was delighted, then she was as gleeful and energetic as a playful kitten, sly and quick, with swift swipes of sharp claws and silken fingers, petal soft lips. Her eyes could show her every emotion as clearly as the printed word.
But all of that had changed in Prague. She'd tried a little too much, yet another of her excessive and delightful plans. Only this time, she hadn't been swift enough to run away. This time, she'd been cornered, been attacked by the survivors, the families of her victims. He'd barely managed to rescue her, and she had been so injured, so weakened by the whole terrible mess that he'd feared she would fade away, drift to sleep beside him and he'd wake to a scattering of dust in place of his dark goddess.
Her energy was gone, and he worried so much about her. The wounds had closed, but she was still so weak, having lost weight, becoming paler, almost translucent. She was still beautiful, still his moon and stars, his dark and glorious goddess, but she was just so weak...
Spike brushed his fingers over Dru's cheek, his soft words a promise. "Don't worry, baby. I'll find a way to make you all better again. Then it can be just like it was before."
Her dark lips, stained with the blood of her victims, curled up slightly, into a delicate smile. She was a delicate beauty, too fragile, too elegant for the day. And he would find a way for them to once again rule the night. For her.
end Dark Beauty.