Summary: Dru dances.
Drusilla dances. She dances to the music only she can hear, the wonderful wonderful music that the stars whisper to her and only her. The music, the melody, the song, it flows through her veins, through her heart, and she's alive — oh her heart has a beat, it does, but it is not a beat like any other beat. It is a beat that you can dance to, move to, and Drusilla does.
Drusilla dances. Candlelight flickers against the walls, against her paper-thin skin, giving her a ghostly glow. Her hands are high above her head, the full skirt on her lace gown twirling around her body as she sways to the music that keeps her alive.
Oh, daddy and grandmummy, oh how she feels sorry for them. They do not have music in their veins like her, oh no, just putrid blood that reeks of death. Death, death is all they have, but Drusilla, she has life, music, a beat in her heart that even sweet sweet Angelus cannot take from her.
Grandmummy watches her from the shadows of the room. Drusilla can't see her, but she knows she is there. Watching her, wishing she had music too.
Drusilla dances to the music that only she can hear, and she wishes that she could give her grandmummy the wonderful wonderful music too, she wishes she could replace the death in her veins with the life she sways to. She wishes grandmummy could have a beat in her heart too.
Drusilla dances and the stars whisper things to her, things with splendid melody, things of life and death, the past and the future. The stars whisper things, interlaced in the music and the beat, they whisper things. They tell her that Grandmummy too, will have a beat in her heart, but it will not be one of music. That Daddy will have a soul but no beat; he will never have a beat, not like Drusilla. They tell her that Daddy and Grandmummy will have a child, the rain going pitter-patter, pitter-patter in the alley as Grandmummy turns to dust.
Drusilla dances. She dances to the music only she can hear, the wonderful wonderful music that the stars whisper to her and only her. The music, the melody, the song, it flows through her veins, through her heart, and she's alive. Or the closest thing to alive that she will ever be.
- fin -