[livejournal.com profile] dramadramaduck Writing Sample

Jun. 1st, 2011 02:24 pm
a_pretty_fire: (my darling deadly boy)
[personal profile] a_pretty_fire
It was raining in Prague. Their suite was bright and golden – just like the pretty little girl that Spike had found for their supper – but the greyness of the skies and bleakness of the sodden city seeped in through the curtains. It was almost enough to choke Drusilla. It filled up her head until she wanted to scream with frustration. The heavens shouldn’t have opened. They were supposed to remain closed to the likes of her. She’d been marked for the devil from the day of her birth and claimed by him forever on the day of her death. When she’d risen from the ground, as white as a ghost and with soil in her hair, she’d stepped forward without ever looking back towards the light that she’d lost.

(“Don’t worry, princess,” Spike had murmured, kissing her bare shoulder as he sprawled out on the bed beside her. “The rain’ll clear up soon and then we can go out and find out who’s worth killing in this city.”)



She was lucky to have her darling deadly boy. They never had any difficulty entertaining themselves, though he’d drifted off to sleep now. She must have tired him out.

With a fond smile at her lover, Drusilla slid out from under the arm that was casually draped over her waist. Spike didn’t stir. He slept like the dead, though he looked terribly alive in moments like this, all tousled blonde hair and sleep softened features. The promise that she’d been drawn to back when he’d been sweet little William was laid out for all to see, though no one else – no one but her – ever really looked for it. He glittered, as effulgent as a star, for her alone.

As naked as the day she’d been born – the first time that she’d been born, not the day that Daddy had breathed fresh life into a broken doll – Drusilla crossed the room. When she walked past their discarded dinner, she left bloody footprints on the carpet. A slightly darker shade of red.

(“Will anyone mourn you?” she’d asked, stroking the girl’s golden curls as she trembled with fear in Spike’s grip. Drusilla’s hands were gentle, but, when she caught her chin and turned the frightened face to her own, her fingers were like a vice. “You’re a pretty thing. Don’t you have a sweetheart? Someone to bring flowers to your grave?”

She twisted her hand. Bones snapped and cracked. The girl fell still and silent. With a smile as sweet as moonlight, Drusilla turned to meet her boy’s beautiful eyes.

“Spike? I want flowers.”

“I’ll get you the finest roses in Prague, pet.”

“Oh, my beautiful boy.” She leaned over the dead girl’s body to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. “Take me to bed?”
)

The sun would be setting soon. She placed a hand on the velvet drapes and felt it dying away beneath her palm. Things made more sense in the dark. Perhaps her head would clear soon?

This wasn’t the Prague that she remembered or the Prague that she wanted, but Drusilla didn’t know why. There was something out there. Something waiting for them. Why were the whispering pixies in her head always silent when she wanted them to speak?

A low moan started to build in her throat, her chest, her silent heart. Drusilla closed her eyes and counted the unseen stars until she was calm again. She didn’t want to wake Spike. When she was ready, she meandered back across the room and curled up next to him, guiding his arm back around her waist. He was cold. Even in his sleep, he pulled her close. She fitted perfectly in his arms and she knew that, even if the voices in her head remained silent, they’d face the secrets in Prague’s shadows together.

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