Eighth Day

by Flurblewig

Pairing: Dru/vamp!Willow
Rating: Hard R
Summary: The Wishverse, through Drusilla's perceptive eyes.
A/N: For pruegirl17, who wanted Dru/Vamp Willow in the Wishverse, with no fluff. Big hugs and thanks to debxena for the wonderful beta!

In the beginning was the word, and the word was done.

God had made the world in six days, and on the seventh day He had rested. Fallen asleep, perhaps, gone to chase rainbows and faeries and paint the night sky with dreams. Left his world to be judged and found wanting and remade in a new image. No longer in the image of man, but of vampire.

Drusilla turned in a slow circle, taking in the cages and the chains, and the intoxicating smell of blood and fear and death. She smiled, and clapped her hands in delight. This was a good world.

She walked slowly through the dungeon, putting her hands out to trail along the cold stone walls. Her fingertips tingled with magic. The faeries had been out playing, and a selfish little kitten had got into the store cupboard. The kitten had wanted the pretty shiny things for itself, and now all the magic dust had been spilled. Silly kitten in its lovely blue coat, playing in the faery dust while all its friends ran away. She thought that the kitten would be sorry, soon. Naughty little kittens got smacked on the nose. Smack, smack, smack!

She stood outside one of the cages, running her hands up and down the metal bars. She closed her eyes and swayed, singing along to the faeries' song.

"My angel," she sang softly.

The thing chained to the wall tried to raise its head, but didn't seem to have the strength. It was an angel of despair and darkness, this one, and she liked it very, very much. It tried to speak, but she raised a finger to her lips. "Hush now, my darling. Pull the covers up over your head and sing a song to keep the monsters away. They won't come out from under the bed while your princess is here."

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, then reached out a hand to stroke along the scarred and torn flesh. Her skin jumped at the contact, feeling cool smooth perfection where a burned wasteland lay. Angel of death, angel of illusion, real/not-real, here/not-here, in her arms and a whole world away, but always in her heart.

"Drusilla? What are you doing? You know it isn't your turn yet."

The voice came from behind her; a voice so harsh/sweet, so full of innocence and pain and happiness and corruption. Drusilla turned her head to see a lovely present wrapped in leather and lace. Her child/enemy, little witch-that-wasn't, pale hands on luscious hips and so much promise/fear in her yellow/green eyes.

Oh, and she was beautiful, this one. So beautiful that the faeries all hid their eyes from her moonlight brightness and prayed that God never woke up from his sleepyhead dreams.

"Willow," said Drusilla, and the name caressed/burned her tongue as she spoke. Her Willow, her own baby. Clever little kitten, to have helped mama create such a wonder!

"It's not your turn," said Willow again as she walked into the cage. "It's not fair, Drusilla. We agreed. You can't keep using up all my pets and not leaving me anything to play with. We're supposed to take turns. You can't just—"

Dru stepped forward and silenced her with a kiss, feeling the girl respond/flinch immediately, kissing/fighting back fiercely.

"I can hear your heart beat," she whispered into her sweet kittendream's ear.

"Don't be so silly. My heart doesn't beat. Here, feel."

Cool hands lifted her own, placed them on flesh that was soft and unyielding and silent and alive.

"Hurt/help me," said Willow, smiling/crying. "You know how much I want/hate it."

Drusilla moved her hand, stroking in small circles. Willow arched into her touch, her body so needy/afraid, so full of passion/fear that it made Drusilla's senses whirl. She ripped at leather/wool, baring skin that froze/flared under her hands.

Oh, how long did she have? How long before the faeries came home and turned her out of her lovely new castle? She liked it here, she wanted to stay. Wanted to stay forever with her beautiful stolen love.

A tongue as cold as a blade ran down the side of her neck, down to her chest, her breasts, her nipples. Blood/cherrygloss red lips found hers, that tongue/weapon making its way from her mouth down the length of her body.

They slammed into the side wall, the angel-thing making pitiful mewling noises as it tried to pull its broken flesh out of their way.

"Puppy," said Willow, "you're awake. Look, we have a show for you. Isn't that nice of us?"

Eager/trembling hands touched Drusilla, stroked her, entered her. She moaned low in her throat, giving herself over to the pleasure that spiralled up throughout her body. Giving herself over to this wonderful creature, this old/new lover, this wanton/virgin girl who worshipped her with lips and hands and fangs. She screamed out when she came, biting down hard into her lover/victim's neck and savouring the sweet, sweet power/life she found there.

And when it was over she lay in Willow's arms and wept. Wept because it was so glorious and beautiful and none of it was real.

She didn't like the Master. Nasty, ratty little thing that talked all the time, little prune-like mouth opening and closing and spewing forth waves and waves of senseless words. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"I do not suffer insubordination gladly," he told her. "You will learn to show proper respect."

She snorted. "Your bones are already dust, old rat. There is nothing left for anyone to respect"

He hit her then, but she felt nothing. He was just a ghost, and they couldn't hurt you, wasn't that what her mama had always said?

She left him to his pointless plans, and wandered back down to the dungeons. She felt at home there, soaking herself in all the wonderful dreams that this world was made of. Dreams of blood and pain and fucking; of herself and her baby, adding their screams to those that already lived in the air and the stone. Dreams of the angel-thing, licking the blood from Willow's thighs and crying while Dru sang to it. Dreams of other pets; sweet, faceless things that she'd also sung to and tried to look after. Pets had to be looked after more than dolls, otherwise they broke and were no fun anymore. Her Spike had taught her that. Sometimes there hadn't been much for them to eat other than their own bodies, and they didn't like doing that. Dru had made them do it anyway. They had to keep their strength up, so that Willow could play.

She prowled around the cells, and in one she found a little boy with lovely haunted eyes. She smiled at him, knowing that in the dreams he'd been her very favourite pet. She sat down by his side and tried to reach out and comfort him, but her hand just went straight through. She wanted to tell him that it was really just make-believe, that when the kitten was done playing he could go home, but she knew there was no home for this one to go back to. Poor lost pet, with no collar and no mummy waiting for him.

"I'll remember you," she said instead. "Sweet little Jesse, your Dru will remember."

She could hear the kitten all around her; pitiful, mewling cries it made. It didn't like its new world so much, now. It wanted to go home. Her Willow must have heard it too, because when she came back to Dru's arms she smelled of the ripe fresh blood, and the kitten didn't cry any more.

Dru put her head in her hands and wept. The kitten's blood was strong, and it had woken the God from his dreams.

"I see our resident insane-o-gram is giving good value tonight."

"Xander. That's not nice. You know I don't like it when you're mean to her."

"You're too soft with her, Will. She's a liability. We can all see that."

Dru knelt at Willow's feet and looked up at the boy. This one wasn't sweet at all. This one was empty-eyed and hollow. "You see nothing," she hissed.

She tried to show Willow her cards, the images that were burning into her mind. Even here, the tarot told the truth. She ran her finger over the coloured images, wolf and crayfish and lightning. Time was all used up, she couldn't hold on to it any longer.

"The Moon, the Tower," she said, holding the cards up to Willow. "The end of illusions. The castle is coming down."

Willow looked down at her. "Drusilla, we don't really have time for this. It's our big night tonight, and we have a lot of work to do. A lot of preparations to make. We should go now, the Master's waiting."

"Will, leave her here. We've got work to do, we can't be babysitting."

"O-kay, Mr meanie. Drusilla, you stay here and — I don't know, guard the puppy. But don't get into any trouble, we've got enough to worry about. Someone heard a rumour that the Slayer might be trying to crash our little party."

Willow leaned and kissed her, a slow lingering kiss that Dru tried hard to burn into her mind and body. Sweet kiss, last kiss. She knew the party was already over.

When Willow was gone Dru walked back to the angel-thing's cell. It was fitting; she had shared the beginning with it, she would share the end.

"Drusilla," it whispered when she entered. "Help me. Let me go, Dru. Please."

She smiled sadly. "You can't save this world, my angel. It's already gone. All we can do now is wait."

She reached out and held its hand, held it tightly until it faded clean away.

The careless faery was chastised, all her magic dust was taken away and she wasn't allowed to keep kittens any more. She was sad and angry for a while but she soon found other distractions.

For Drusilla, though, there were no such distractions. She mourned her castle, her Willow, and she shrieked her grief into the air.

And eventually, she was heard.

"My poor dear, do tell me what's wrong."

Dru fell to her knees. "I lost my baby, my child. My own sweet love."

Halfrek smiled. "That's okay, sweetie. Abandoned children are my speciality. Just tell me your wish."

And in the end was the word, and the word was Willow.

- fin -

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