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Melpomene (melpomene@graffiti.net).
Shards
William watched as Lillith slept beside him. For the past two years she hadn't aged a day and neither would she ever. He himself had apparently been the same age for a hundred and thirty four years but at the same time he only had two years worth of experience at life, well two years that he remembered at any rate. She stirred, spilling crimson hair all over her white pillow and a similar image of red and white came to him but this time instead of hair it was blood on the pillow. These violent images which occasionally flitted past his mind's eye were very disturbing. Lillith took it all into stride though; she understood those images even if he didn't. The first time it happened he was so grateful to have her there, even though all she could do was to confirm what they meant. They were almost remembered fragments of his past, a past that consisted of a hundred years of indulging the demon which lived within him. He thanked fate that he couldn't remember them. But it wasn't fate that was responsible for it, it was Lillith, the small but fierce woman that he couldn't help but hold in his arms. She had managed to regain his soul and keep him sane, even after everything that had happened between them she stayed with him, gave of herself to him. But she was always vague about the past, not being able to hide everything from him, but still managing to keep back the details. He remembered asking about changing her name and her answer was full of regret. She had said that she could no longer pretend to be either Willow Rosenberg or Lune anymore and that the names were just painful reminders. William felt a sadness which bordered on guilt because of that comment, he knew he was responsible for the deaths of both of them. He didn't know exactly what happened, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The demon whimpered, reminding William of his need for blood, a reminder William would rather do without. But he had to answer that call so he gently touched Lillith's face, waking her up. Her Chartreuse eyes opening to pierce him with their brilliant green. She saw the need he had and wordlessly lifted the sheets off her body and again he thanked fate for her understanding. He hated having to do this but he sat up and, with an mute apology for her, let the demon take over, he sank his fangs into Lillith's abdomen and gasped slightly as the blood gushed into his mouth sweet and warm, tingling like live ants. He could taste the amphetamines which made her heart beat with a close panicky flutter, it was part of the alchemy and magic, imparted by the Hecate, which kept her alive, and will keep her alive for eternity. He could also taste a different strain of alchemy, also imparted by their patrons, but this one kept him sane. Her blood was glorious because it tasted of who Lillith was, intelligent, passionate, magical and sad. This was the only heaven he'd ever know. He drew away from her afraid he'd take too much. He knew he'd have to be the one in control because she never stopped him. It was one of the most disturbing things about Lillith, she never stopped him while he fed, even the first time, when he still hadn't enough control to stop himself. She had almost died that time and it scared him, but oddly enough it didn't scare her. This is not to say that she took reckless chances in any other part of her life, she was the one who would insist on ridiculous precautions while they did their grim work for the Hecate, but when it came to his feeding, she threw caution to the wind. It was almost as if, in those moments, death was a familiar friend and she was welcoming it. As he pulled his fangs out of her soft pale flesh she let out an involuntary moan, a moan which sounded like regret. He kissed the punctures gently and they were healed even as his lips left them, another reminder of her powerful witchcraft. Feeding from her always made him feel insecure, it made him feel as if she was doing penance for the past, and he was her contrition. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too," her lips smiled her response but her eyes refused to light, confirming his suspicion that she didn't. Bitterly he asked, "Why do you say it when you don't mean it, why do you force yourself to be with me if I'm that much of a monster." "And you were a monster, William, there's no doubt about that. But even if you were, I was one too, under the guise of righteousness I committed atrocities, and you, you had no soul." She said this with no inflection, no passion, it was the emptiness of despair and hopelessness. "Drusilla?" He asked quietly. "Drusilla and Spike." She corrected. Now he understood why she stayed with him and kept him sane on her blood, he was her punishment, he was also her tormentor, whom she'd doomed herself to spend the rest of her days with. He found he couldn't feel hurt or angry. She felt the weight of guilt on her shoulders, over things he couldn't remember, she was the only one left who could and she kept that memory alive, it was why she kept him alive; as a reminder of all she'd lost and all she'd taken away. He knew he could never possibly empathize because the vague past she'd told him of felt like nothing more than some sort of classical tragedy to him, totally removed from his reality. But it wasn't like that for her, she couldn't let it go. He lay back down, gathering the pieces of her up. It's OK, I'll wait, even if it takes the rest of forever, I'll wait. What choice did he have.
- fin -
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