Willow had left. (The girl who bore that name here, stole it from me, took a piece of me and made it her own.) The girl who looked like her, talked like her, tasted like her. The girl who ruined her life. (Saw me, stole me, put me away.) She was alone for the night. She hated how much she looked forward to morning.
The bars were too solid to think of escape. They were cold and brittle and tasted like blood. She licked them, one by one, seeing which was the most delicious. She settled on one in the middle. It tasted like it was scared. She sat down against her chosen bar, its flavor still on her tongue (taste of quarry, caged, trapped — heart pounding, blood keening, screeching).
She leaned her head back against the metal lattice surrounding her, closed her eyes. There was a rat somewhere in the building. She could hear it trying to live. It was engorged with blood. (Diseased, riddled with love.) The vampire listened to it scratching through a wall, somewhere far away. It aggravated her. She made sure to focus on that. It was her only distraction from the thoughts in her head. She built up a loathing for the rodent, an unseen tormentor. She promised it a thousand deaths. (Each moment of this is death.) She swore to eat it, its children, its lovers. She swore to drain its blood slowly, letting it feel every moment of its death as an ever-greater agony.
She knew she couldn't. She wouldn't dare taste it. It had been hours since the girl had been here — hours since the demon with her face (delicate, cruel) had spilt her blood. She still couldn't get the taste out of her mouth. She didn't want to. She ran her tongue along her teeth, still feeling the oily film the human's blood had left behind. She shuddered, relieved that she could still feel the girl's presence, but terrified at how weak the taste had become. Soon she would be without it entirely. The thought made her flinch.
She wasn't sure what it was that made the blood different. It was from a girl she wanted — not uncommon, but still. It was her own blood, in a sense. It was from her unspoiled soul, honest and open, given willingly (willingly — oh by the gods, willingly). It was from this delicate girl, friend of the Slayer, witch. It was from a brave, courageous human. Any of these would have made it delectable.
But most importantly, it tasted so dark.
She could hardly have put it into words. The human had watched her feed, watched her drain every drop from the flask, watched as she probed with her finger to get the blood left coating the inside of the vessel. She had left then, disgusted, unaware of how much the vampire wanted to bless her (press against her, feel the sin and shame through a thin skin of soul). This wasn't just nourishment, not base feeding. This girl had given her purpose, meaning.
She didn't know how the girl had that blood in her body. It must have burned. It tasted cruel and filthy; it made her feel depraved as she drank it. She had tortured and killed and delighted in it for years; but this made her feel corrupt. She had felt that grim shade under the girl's skin, back in that library, when she had licked her neck (pulse and skin, nerve and breath); but she convinced herself it was a mistake, that the tiny girl could not harbor such cruelty. Now she licked her lips just thinking about it.
What did this girl have inside her? What could possibly haunt that frame, thin and weak, draped in wool?
The vampire twisted, body heated by the thought. She dreamt of what twitching, festering darkness dwelt behind those caring eyes. She felt it, when the girl first entered; she thought it was hate, but it was so much more vivid. The girl looked at her with wickedness, pure, undiluted. And she had almost missed it. Even the human didn't know it was there.
Captor, delicious friend. I miss you.
She was sure she had only thought those words until she heard her voice echo off the grey stone around her.
Somehow, giving that idea life was too much (a flake of ash, drifting down to start an avalanche).
She opened her eyes, looked down. Her hands were on her corset. They had found the laces. She flexed her fingers, curled the silk ribbons around them.
She licked her teeth again. Just the smallest hint of malice lingered.
Her eyes closed once more.
