"Because I can."
Three words so elusive yet so powerfully symbolic. Struggles from wounded prey now less than useless against the dark strength that held it. A perfect end to a perfect match: Slayer and vampire. Hunter and hunted both with nothing now between except death, as it always was.
"And you hate it, don't you?" Preserved in almost crystalline perfection from that fateful night of turning, Drusilla's face shifted from humanitarian glee to demonic gloating. A haunting beauty outlined in smoothness and fangs her maker once forced to be. "Hate it 'cause I'm better."
But Buffy couldn't speak any more than she could move. Pinned by vampiric strength around wrists and hard against concrete, as much as the hypnotic thrall possessing her mind. Now she was unquestionably lost in that cool grasp and influence of servitude was all that impressed upon the Slayer's thoughts. Impressed like her undead captor pressed; harshly and without remorse.
Silent night... Holy night...
"Hush now!" Vampiress smiled to victim in predatory gaze. The carol singers near enough to hear and too far to help. "Hear it? That's mercy that is. Mercy that's not for you..." Face of the demon was close now and words were breathed onto still-living skin as much as heard in ear. Nose gently but firmly pushing her victim-girl's face to the side, where the curved invite of neck could now be exposed. "Can smell it on you though. Fear. You're like a great big flower all full o' honey. Thought I'd come an' see why they always get lost to you."
All is calm, all is bright.
Buffy's pulse raced. Sweat starting to peak her brow in unadulterated, drowning terror. Something she had faced so many times before. Something always rescued from.
But not tonight.
"Now I can tell," the murderess whispered into the ear of entranced, fearing Slayer. "You're a special one 'cause you're so sweet. So sweet," she continued with a tentative touch of mouth to the heartbeat of skin, "they can't see nothin' but fairy-dust. Blinds 'em. Makes 'em yours with a stink of marigolds an' lilac." From the sweetly-soft touch of intuition and faint smiles, Drusilla wrenched her captive's head to the side with a firm grip on blonde hair. Becoming that killer her reputation had carved in blood so long ago. "Not no more you won't. I think I'll make you mine."
Buffy Summers gasped. Her last act on Earth before mortality would turn to immortality and death would be her craving. What more could be done when trapped inside a sheath of ice so enthralling and rapacious?
"And you can make 'em scream..."
Jaws clamped fiercely around a Slayer's neck and in that moment, both became one in rapture. Any other victim could have died a screaming end - but a Slayer was in love with it. Their very existence fuelled by the innate, hidden darkness within and as the daunting pain grew, it became nothing less than the sheer intoxicant of lustful need for closure.
Fangs cut and sliced deeply through sweetened skin and the flesh of essenced blood. Drusilla, Princess of Death and all who worshipped her, now to become a mother too at an undead feast of pure exhilaration. Draining Buffy Summers as vampiress grew strong and tightened the embrace to exquisite release. Feeding on the girl who had caused her so much misery and make them someone new.
"Oh G... God... I'm..." Weak and almost lifeless hands grasped weakly at her gashed and wounded throat, as Slayer found herself cradled in Drusilla's cool arms. Fangs withdrawn and leeching mouth no longer there.
"Don't talk of Him now. I prayed once too and never got saved." The one who would soon be sire slit her own neck with a flash of razored nails, forcing her newest daughter against it to drink from the mother. Holding Buffy's feeble head there as the girl swallowed her dark and crimsoned milk of unlife. "Good girl. Good girl..." She welcomed with another hand's more leisurely stroke from fingers through blonde waves.
Round yon virgin, mother and child.
The carol singers still sung. Night it was and night it would always be for them, with or without snow. Looking up, the drifting Princess remembered there would always be stars too. Things to talk to with a moon to shine and tell her whispers and secrets.
Christmas trees and presents too, where were they now? With a frown, Drusilla decided that she didn't know. As with so many things it seemed. Why couldn't she have any now, with a fairy put on top as was only proper for such a festive season. She could if she wanted to. Princesses could have whatever their fair maiden hearts desired, wasn't that so?
Almost everything. Some they couldn't. Things that were lost like so many fairy lights.
Where was little Anne now, Drusilla wondered. Why couldn't she join in with the fun and spirit of the season?
Anne didn't do anything after that night...
Holy infant so tender and mild.
Soil covered the last of Buffy's shroud as a mother in death tended to her offspring of blood. Starlight still talked to her and she talked right back. Humming on happier tunes and making comments of how well and pretty she had become. So healthy even they seemed jealous of just how bright Drusilla sparkled that night.
Still sung though. Sung for her and anyone else who cared to ask. There was even a tree nearby, with tinsel and decoration on its leaves and branches that stretched so high.
Sing a pretty tune? Pretty tune for me? Just like a bird.
Bird that could fly.
All the good children were tucked up in bed, waiting for a visit from Santa to fill their stockings with funny things and mice, or so Dru fancied. She'd had a nice dinner but it wasn't made of turkey. Just wouldn't do - not for a lady like her. Not when she ate other things. There were fun and games for everyone now and she would show them how.
There was mistletoe and spice and all things nice, now that everyone would come for tea.
Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace...
And Drusilla had her Christmas present.
"Because you're mine."