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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 three hundred years but at the same time he only
had
two years worth of experience at life, well two years that he remembers
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 hundreds of 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 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 take 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.
"Druscilla?" He asked quietly.
"Druscilla 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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