A/N: Well, it's been a while since I've had time to update any of my stories. Got time, and suddenly was inspired for this. Well, I know there were loads of mistakes in the last chapter, and the truth is I don't think it's very good. Well, I'll try to improve. Enjoy!
I awoke to a pounding headache. I squeezed my eyes tightly and groaned. I felt disorientated, like I was drunk. I tried to raise my hand to my head but it banged on something. I frowned. At least, I think I did. I wasn't sure.
I tried to focus my sluggish mind. I let out another groan, and forced my eyes open. Their was a slab of wood mere inches from my face. I tried to more again, but I couldn't. A wild thought came to me. 'I'm buried alive! Oh God, oh God.' But then I came to my senses. The idea was ridicules. But…why am I unable to move? The thought of being buried alive came to me again. I became frantic. I made my hands into fists and pounded on the wood with all my might. To my astonishment, it split the first time. I struck it again, and again. Earth began to fall onto me. In my haste, I was oblivious to the fact that I wasn't breathing.
I reached to where the earth had fallen and my hands found the hole. I yanked it, ripping the wood off. I ripped away more wood, frantic to escape. I pushed my arms upward and forced myself free. I broke through to the surface and looked about wildly.
The area was filled with unmarked graves. Dear God in Heaven, I actually WAS buried. "My little boy's woken up," a feminine voice said. I turned around and saw the strange, but beautiful woman from the alley.
"What on Earth is going on?" I demanded sharply. The woman laughed and clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet, rather like that of a small child. It was a very queer sight to see an adult behaving in such a manner, and in a dark graveyard no less. "I asked you a question," I snapped. I certainly was not in the mood for these games.
The woman grew still and pointed a finger at me. "Naughty little boy," she scolded. "Sons should not speak to there mothers in such a fashion!"
I stared at her. "Are you mad, woman?" I asked, not believing my ears. "You are not my mother."
She walked over to me, and something stirred deep inside me, something that compelled me to her side. She began to speak. "I killed you and resurrected you. I took your blood and you died. Then I gave you my own and it transformed you. My teeth killed a mortal, and my blood changed you, gave birth to what you are now. If I am not your mother, then what am I?" To this I had no answer. I did not truly understand the question. She placed her hand on my cheek. "Don't you remember poppet?" And then suddenly I did. I stared at her. "I know what they called you," she said. "William the Bloody. They were right, but they didn't know it. But I knew. I saw you, and the Queen of Hearts told me I'd found my King. The sheep mocked the wolf, and now the wolf is unleashed, free of the chains placed upon him. The wolf's spirit was always strong, even though they make his flesh weak. William the Bloody. William the Bloody. William the Bloody is now free. His heart is filled with death's poetry, and his passion will make the angels hide."
I could do nothing but stare. Finally I asked her a question. "What is your name?"
"Drusilla." I kissed her hand. She smiled at me. "We must go now, dear William. It's your birthday, and the party must start. The stars tell me you'll be mighty."