Somewhere deep inside Drusilla remembers faces, and voices. Not complete ones, just bits and pieces that occasionally pop up in her mind. When she adds them up, all those vague remembrances of her past, then she knows to who those faces and voices belong.
Her family.
Killed one by one, by Angelus.
Each even crueller and more careless than the former.
All she could do was watch, watch as the people she depended on were turned into nothing but a memory.
Nothing but bits and pieces she would have to think hard of to remember over a century later.
Drusilla may be considered to be crazy, everything she said did mean something. It had structure. She knew who she was. Even though most people thought she didn't, she knew Angelus killed the ones she needed.
He hadn't just turned her, or took her away from her dear ones.
He had changed her.
Not into a vampire, or an evil creature, he had changed her into a dependant girl.
She depended on him, and no one or nothing else.
She knew, somewhere in her mind filled with tea parties, dolls and fairies, that he had all the power. He had the power over her. He could take away everything and everyone she loved, but he could also make her happy.
No one could understand, not even Darla , or her sweet William.
He loved her, that was for sure, but he thought Angelus just 'owned' her and that was it. He was her sire.
That was the way he saw it. Spike couldn't possibly understand that Angelus controlled all her memories, her thoughts, her fantasies, and her life.
But he'd given them to her, after all.
If he hadn't turned her into one of them with a kiss, her parents and siblings and other relatives wouldn't have been bits and pieces of faces and voices.
If she would've died with them, or if they would have died in a normal way, then Drusilla would have stayed normal as well.
They would be full memories.
She would have 'had' a full memory, but instead now her mind was spotted with childish ideas about stars and dollies.
She wasn't completely sane, but Dru knew Angelus had the power.
All the power.
The power to hurt, the power to kill, and the power to live.
He'd given her a chance to live, indeed.
Live with him.
But that meant accept the fairies, and stars, and all of the dollies he'd put in her mind.
She did, as long as beneath that, were the faint memories of faces and voices that she needed.
- The End -