a_pretty_fire: (everything withers and dies)
No.

There isn't enough room. I'm made up of blood and flesh. I'm filled up with secrets. There isn't room for a soul, not even for a little while.

I'll scratch your eyes out! I'll rip your throat out! I'll never be good. I can't be good. The wickedness is already inside. Can't you smell it? Can't you feel it?

I don't have the coins for the boatman. We'll all have to pay for the mess.
a_pretty_fire: (pretty as a picture)
I don't know if I like this new game of yours. I don't want to be a boy, not even for a little while. None of my dresses will fit, and Miss Edith won't like it. She'll be upset.

Will you pick a nice face for me? I like it better when I get to pick my own.
a_pretty_fire: (broken)
No.

No!

I've been a good girl. I haven't displeased you. I haven't eaten anyone on the Plane, not even the Slayer. The stars told me I wasn't allowed to make a mess in their garden, and I didn't want to stain the magic with any blood.

I won't be broken. Not like Daddy. You won't clip my wings. Poor Spike is running around in circles with the tin toys in his brain. He won't know how to look after me.

A filthy, stinking soul. I won't keep it. I'll claw it out. I'll cut it out.

I can smell it already, creeping closer. It's going to choke me! No! I'll get rid of it. I will, I will!

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a_pretty_fire: (Default)
a_pretty_fire

April 2012

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