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Conveniences: 02/07/04. 411 words. Fred
shortly after her return from Pylea, how does she see the people around her? Written for
Vixen.
Final Touch: 02/08/04. 394 words.
Connor/Harmony, Origin spoilers. Written for Lee at Buffyverse1000.
Inscapable: 05/08/04. 191 words. Pike, years
after the movie. Written for Copper at Buffyverse1000.
Land of the Blind: 05/08/04. 430 words.
"As he lies in his hospital bed, Wesley tastes defeat clearly on his tongue.".
Written for Copper at Buffyverse1000.
Necessary: 02/07/04. 500 words. "Prague is
but a step in our way." Written for Dodyskin.
Out Of Reach: 02/08/04. 462 words. Of all the
women in his life, she's the one he never knew. Written for Lee at Buffyverse1000.
Patience: 01/07/04. 498 words. Late S2, Spike
watches. Written for Dana.
Something Wicked:
08/10/04. 303 words. Marcie during 'Out of Mind, Out of Sight'. Written for Dana.
Superstar: 02/08/04. 267 words. Lilah comes to
Sunnydale during Superstar. L/J.
The 'L' Word: 16/08/04. 302 words. Buffy has
an emotional debate, kinda.
The Nature Of A Slayer: 02/08/04.
212 words. WML2, Kendra through Angel's eyes. Written for Cassie at Buffyverse1000.
Too Late: 03/08/04. 303 words. Eyghon's release.
Written for Dana at Buffyverse1000.
Unforgettable: 02/08/04. 375 words. It's the
summer after graduation, time to wallow. Isn't it? Written for Lee at Buffyverse1000.
Vignette: 30/06/04. 154 words. Futurefic, a tiny
B/A ficlet.
Whim: 02/08/04. 286 words. To the winner, the spoils.
Dark Faith/Wesley. Written for Lee at Buffyverse1000.
VIGNETTE
A quiet night, just the two of them at the apartment. A small miracle
considering Dawn and Andrew were always keeping an eye on them.
"Mint-chip-cookie-dough-fudge," he said suddenly, completely out of the blue.
"Huh?" She looked at him, barely moving her head from its comfortable spot on
his shoulder.
He smiled at her, and she found something hiding behind his smile. "Your favourite
ice-cream."
She laughed softly. "They don't sell it anymore." His eyes darkened for an
instant and she thought she knew what he was expecting for. Cuddling closer against him,
she said the words she thought would appease him. "You're so sweet, remembering such
a little thing about me."
He tightened his arm around her, hoisting her up and quickly leaning into her for a quick
kiss. When it finished she smiled. "You're crazy," she said amusedly, twining
his hand with hers.
And the disappointment was quickly hidden under his laugh.
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PATIENCE
Spike watches.
When he was human he was always rushing through life, as if his next breath couldn’t
possibly encompass everything that that second of life could mean. He run through his
verses, as if the words could transport him to places he’d never visit in the
forty-something years he had before him. He rushed with his heart on his sleeve, because
he didn’t have to wait the time it’d take to discover it from his chest.
His first lesson after he rose was that patience was a virtue, the only one deserving to
be groomed in his new life.
Spike is patient now. Sitting quietly in his wheelchair, he watches every detail around
him. Careful not do anything that wouldn’t be expected of him, he does the only thing
nor Angelus neither Drusilla think possible.
He waits.
His sweet Dru runs between him and Angelus, Spike cannot deny that anymore. She looks at
him with concerned eyes and he knows that if this continues, one day she’ll simply
forget. Just like she always forgets all those birds in their cages. Drusilla acts like
nothing is wrong between them, talking in her baby voice and bringing him whatever her
wandering mind thinks will make him better. Spike doesn’t even blink when she
presents her with a pair of boots, he prefers to pretend that it’s because her sight
has showed her that he’ll be okay again.
But her eyes are a constant challenge. I am healthy now, they seem to tell her, this town
is not enough for me. Spike wants to tell her that she is right, that she deserves the
world in a platter. But he’s afraid that Angelus will offer it to her as soon as he
says the words. Drusilla would follow her angel, that Spike knows, decades of his
tenderness and his care have not changed her choice.
So he keeps silent.
He waits.
Angelus comes and goes through the mansion, his trace quickly noticed by the string of
words he leaves behind him. Conquer, destroy, master and vanquish; Spike can recite the
speeches in his dreams. He wonders when they’ll begin to come true, if finally
Angelus’ plans will come to some sort of fruition. All he sees is the anger that
grows in the older vampire’s stance every time he returns home, all he hears are
Angelus’ unkempt promises. And his jokes.
Spike doesn’t care about the mockery he’s victim of; no, that’s not true.
But he won’t let Angelus see but a glimmer of what he truly thinks. You’ve been
gone too long, he wants to say, you left the scene and now the stage is mine. But he
doesn’t say it. Because, want it or not, he knows that he’s perilously at
Angelus’ barely existent mercy.
So he keeps silent.
He waits.
Spike watches carefully, measuring the strength of his legs and the fury in Angelus’
eyes. Both are getting stronger.
In the end both will help his cause.
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CONVENIENCES
After five years in a world where humans were cattle while Mc Donald’s or Burger
King’s were only figments of her imagination, the discovery of a vampire was not
shocking at all. Much less was it frightening, why be afraid of him when others wanted her
as a slave (If she was lucky) while Angel wanted to save her (That was being
lucky).
She came back home. Well, not really home because she was gone for too long, but she had a
room at the Hyperion and people who fussed around her like she was their little sister and
it felt good. She had always wanted big brothers to protect her.
Except that Angel didn’t feel like a big brother. Fred watched him fight, jump, punch
and simply walk and she knew he wasn’t anything like a sibling. If anyone
would have asked for her opinion, Fred would have said he was the topping of a delicious
Stracciamenta. Probably with a strawberry too.
“Fred, would you like to accompany me for lunch? I’ve heard of this cafeteria, I
think you’d like the vanilla ice-cream there.”
She smiled and shook her head at Wesley, instead furrowing deeper into her seat and
watching as Angel studied the books in front of him. She didn’t even hear the door as
Wesley closed it behind him.
Her function in the hotel was still undefined, they all wanted her to feel safe first.
Fred didn’t have the heart to tell them that she only felt safe when Angel was
around. He had gotten her out of that horrible dimension, surely he could protect her in
this realm, right? And yes, she liked the others and smiled when they tried to put her at
ease; but... It wasn’t the same.
But try they did.
“Hey, Fred, you sure you don’t want to come grab some tortillas with us?”
She smiled and waved at them dismissively. “Bring something for me,” she told
them and went back to watch Angel practice. She didn’t see the look that passed
between Gunn and Lorne, nor the lingering glance the first threw at her before they left.
Because Fred knew the others – her boys, as she called them privately – cared
about her. But all the instincts she’d developed in the last years told her that the
real predator was Angel. A predator on her side. Who better than him to take care
of her?
So Fred let herself be taken care of.
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NECESSARY
Spike watches her dance on the streets. Drusilla is beautiful, and she greets this
welcoming city with a song on her red lips.
He looks around and likes his surroundings. Everything is new to his eyes. Sometimes, when
they are going through England, he has flashbacks to the time when he was still alive. He
sees women in fancy dresses instead of the low-cut jeans that are the newest fashion,
carriages and horses go noiselessly around him and for a moment he forgets the sound of
honks and tires against the asphalt.
Spike doesn't like those flashbacks, he has enough reminiscence with Drusilla singing
softly about times long past. Maybe that's why he likes this new city they've chosen, it's
old enough to have a history and yet so new that the people dismiss it. Nobody believes in
them anymore, here where the folklore has long fangs and nightly habits. Spike likes that.
Drusilla continues dancing in front of him, coming and going, her dress describing an arch
of black and greys across the street. She moves completely unaware of his thoughts, and
Spike is glad. If his thoughts don't include Drusilla then they are not worth of her
knowledge. When she comes to him, she has a small kitty in her hands.
"Can I keep her?" she asks, her blue eyes telling him of games still not played
in these streets. "Cat and mouse, we want to play." Her face shifts and, scared,
the small animal jumps from her arms and dissolves into an alley nearby. Drusilla pouts.
He moves closer to her and trails a finger down her cheek. "Aw, ducks, no tears over
a silly cat."
Drusilla opens her arms to him, her pout now transformed into a lazy smile, and he goes
into them, putting his own around her waist.
"Kitty wants her mice," is everything she whispers before leading him into a
packed street. Spike only follows, careful to keep her hand in his now that they are
between so many people. "Painful but necessary, will you forgive me?"
Spike kisses her hand. He could forgive her heaven and hell as long as she stays at his
side.
"No, you won't," she giggles. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't really matter.
Prague is but a step in our way."
He looks at her but doesn't comment. In the last decades he has learned that sometimes the
best option is to ignore her words.
When they arrive to a lonely corner of the plaza, Drusilla points to one of the houses. A
big party is going on there, filled with men and women and little juicy kids.
Now he understands. His fingers caress her chin, going down her neck slowly. "Does my
Dru want her mice too?"
Drusilla smiles and guides him into the house. "Painful, so painful," Spike
hears her say before slipping into her true face. He still doesn't understand the
'necessary' part as they flee from the crosses and fire this people knew how to use.
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UNFORGETTABLE
Giles once told her that she needed to study and memorise facts if she wanted to
survive. It was one of the few times Giles had been so serious, so Buffy just swallowed
all jokes and followed his lead. It wasn't so difficult. She can tell you without blinking
where the heart of a Brygh is, and that cutting off the head of a Luwk will only cause
more trouble than it's worth.
Giles had been so proud.
There are other things Buffy cannot remember so well. One day in the summer after
graduation she bought her favourite ice-cream and rented the sappiest movies. Time to
wallow, she had decided, time to go through the memories and cry for them.
Except that none would come. She couldn't remember his eyes, even though she knew they had
always looked at her with something like admiration in them. She couldn't remember how
they kissed, except that when they did she often forgot everything around them. She
couldn't remember exactly how many times they'd met, she was lost as to where and when.
But she knew he had always been there.
Until he wasn't anymore.
That was why she was... wallowing, wasn’t it? It was part of the process. Buffy
wanted to remember everything, mourn properly for it. She just wanted to remember, period.
First love is forever precious, isn't it? All books and even her mother had said that at
one point.
Afterwards, long after the screen was blank and the ice cream had melted, Buffy realised
the problem. She couldn't. She couldn't remember. Memories were dimmed, not by time but by
fear. Fear of loving him too strongly. Fear of giving him too much. Fear of losing him
forever and fear when he came back. By the time Angel was gone for good, she could barely
think of their first meeting.
Summer has come and gone and Buffy never bought ice cream again, not without Willow to
keep her company. She tries to laugh, it's good for the soul or so they say. She truly
laughs the day it hits her.
There’s still something she can remember. The feeling of being protected, that's what
she always kept closest to her heart.
It's a very nice memory.
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OUT OF REACH
Spike noticed her in the fourth of fifth video he made of the Slayer. She was always
there, gravitating around the Slayer-friends. He wondered about that, what that unlikely
White Hat wannabe did. It was fun to watch, the world was truly upside down when a pretty
girl like her was sucked into such a group. By all rights it should be the other way
around.
He liked the way she spoke, always saying the words which would most hurt. She aimed for
the bull's eye of everybody's weaknesses and damned if she didn't hit it flawlessly.
He liked the way she moved, her walk reflected that she owned the world and knew it.
Watching her interact with her peers was watching an alpha vixen tear others to pieces.
Spike truly liked the spectacle.
Sometimes he was tempted. So very tempted. A beautiful brunette, with dark eyes and long
legs, sassy and brunt and so sure of herself. It reminded Spike of Drusilla, how his love
had been, talked and walked before she fell ill. How could he not be tempted?
Then the girl was completely absorbed by the other side. It only made her more tempting,
of course. But it also made her one of the most protected humans in the world. He just
never found the chance to go after her. Pity, that. Spike was just beginning to like the
idea of having two females at home again. He missed those times.
He wouldn't learn the brunette's name after much later. One day when Xander was in a
particularly bad mood and blamed Spike for everything from pre-school jabs to his current
unemployment. Somewhere along the way the boy mentioned his first break-up.
"What are you jammering about? Isn't your demon-bird enough for you anymore?"
Xander had sighed. "Highschool love is special. Cordelia was that for me."
Spike put two and two together - he still remembered the distaste at finding his latest
obsession in the boy's arms - and finally had a name to attach to those long legs.
Again, it would be years until he saw Cordelia again. Too curious, he'd followed Fred in
one of her visits to the hospital room, only becoming visible again after the scientist
had left.
Spike had always seen her in movement, a blur of sharp stilettos and sharper words
wherever she went. It had been strange, finding the girl like that. So still, so...
silent. He'd walked closer, finally examining her as he'd often wanted long ago. "I'd
have protected you better," he'd finally whispered, leaning down to drop a not-kiss
on her lips and not-caressing her cheek in a intangible goodbye.
He was always saying goodbye to the women he'd loved, it was somewhat fitting that
Cordelia got one too.
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SUPERSTAR
Lilah glances at the file in her hands. The case was dropped in her lap after noone else
wanted a Hellmouth-related one. She had just shrugged and accepted the assignment,
whatever helped her ascend the W&H ladder was welcome.
Jonathan Levinson, age 19, changed reality and conjured a demon in the process. If W&H
wasn't protected against such spells - especially the amateur kind, she's heard of bigger
far more powerful reality shifts, those scare her - they'd probably be worshipping
Levinson too.
Lilah chuckles, oh, the haste of youth. Teenagers are always the most susceptible to the
dark arts, just ask half her human clients.
But she admits that she's impressed this time. He has changed the world at his whim, this
boy. Played with powers higher than he could imagine. Takes a lot of bravery to do that.
Lilah can appreciate that.
The assignment is simple, go to the source and bring things back to normal before it
messes with something truly important. The Slayer in residence cannot be trusted. Lately
she's shown signs of being... distracted. Priorities of the young aren't what they used to
be, Lilah muses.
When she arrives to Sunnydale, the town lives for their beloved Jonathan. She has to act
quickly, before she falls under the spell. But it's easy to see why Mr. Levinson would
attract so much attention. He's kind, he's sweet, he's so damn gorgeous.
Lilah is nothing if not stubborn. It's only two days later, spell dissolved and the
memories of a young boy at her bedside, that Lilah regrets her tenacity for the first
time.
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WHIM
It was easy to notice that Spike wanted her (Buffy) as she whispered naughty promises
to him. If she hadn't been found out so quickly, Faith would have loved to make them true.
She can picture a scene where she and Spike are locked together. Images flick in and out
of her mind, how he'd touch her (Buffy) and how he'd let her (Buffy) act all her whims on
him.
Faith gets hot just thinking about it.
But she was chased out of town, had to leave her newest - possibly future favourite –
boy toy behind. L.A. is nothing like the travel agencies promise. There are vampires to
ignore, cheerleaders to hit and ex-Watchers to settle past debts with.
Faith straddles him, making sure her chest is pressed against his. It was supposed to be
just another round of teasing. But she is too close. Glasses are long lost and his blue
eyes stare at her in defiance. Oh, blue eyes. Faith can remember another kind of defiance
in that blue shade.
Wesley and her are locked together. If she threads her legs through his - and she does -
it'd feel like... yes! He looks as if he wanted to touch her (her, Faith) and even
when she knows it wouldn't be the touch she's been thinking about, it would do. This man
will let her (her, no falsehoods) act all her whims on him. He has no choice.
So Faith whims, and she does, and it's all she imagined and some more. When she calls the
wrong name, the furious blue just makes her laugh. Because, yes, that was exactly the look
Faith pictured when she told Spike he was fucking the wrong girl.
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FINAL TOUCH
The day had been a surprise after another. First his parents invent some lame excuse to
drag him to L.A.. He's mid-holidays, you know? TV and soccer games with his old friends
was everything he really wanted to do.
Dad mumbled something about mortgages as he lead his small family into Wolfram & Hart.
That was when he saw her.
It's his dirty little secret. Connor is sure his mother would gasp if she knew it, his
father would try to have ‘the talk’ with him again. That’s why he
doesn’t tell them. But older women interest him. A lot. It began when he was 16,
always lusting after his brother's college girlfriends. As he got older so did his
crushes. This blonde looks exactly how he'd want her so Connor isn't the least bit mad
when his parents ask him to stay behind.
She's some sort of secretary, he gathers after following her for a while. Nobody notices
him, and he’s not surprised. Since pre-school Connor was the best at hide-and-seek,
now that his objective isn't hiding he's even better. He watches Miss Kendall as she goes
around the building running different errands. She's too giddy. She's too perky. But -
Connor's eyes widen as she bends to pick up a fallen folder - with that body, who cares?
That's when he sees his father coming out of an office, and he quickly covers up with some
inane comment about vending machines. After that, his day only gets weirder.
When Connor comes back to Wolfram & Hart, he looks everything through new eyes.
Everything is exactly the same as before, but now he's conscious that something lurks
between these walls. Angel is gone, retrieving information for this case, and for some
strange reason has let Connor use the main office meanwhile. Not much time passes until
his secretary comes looking for another file.
She - Harmony, she says - is still too giddy. And too perky. But apparently she's a bit
too lonely and doesn't mind taking a confused boy into a storage room. Connor doesn't mind
it either; he has plenty of time until Angel comes to explain the rest of the story.
When Harmony's face shifts as she pushes him harder against the floor, obviously intending
to go for the kill, Connor is still amazed that he can throw her away.
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THE NATURE OF A SLAYER
Kendra does what Buffy still cannot bring herself to do. She lets the power free. Angel
could feel it as they fought at Willy's. Knew against all concept of reason and logic that
the girl was a Slayer. Later, as he waited for the sun to claim him, he found that reason
and logic only backed up his theory. He still has nightmares of Buffy lying dead in the
cavern, it makes sense that a new Slayer would have been called that day.
Kendra and Buffy are the ones to bring him home after the fight. When they need more
bandages, it's Buffy who knows where they are kept. Left alone, Angel sees the new girl
fidget at his bedside. "It's okay," he tries to say, even if it comes out like a
slur. Kendra straightens and stares at him, Angel can see the apology in the way she
struggles not to say it. He understands. Slayers have nothing to apologise for, so it must
be said somewhere in the handbook.
When she kisses him lightly on his bruised lips, one fourth guilt and three of curiosity,
the surprise is minimal. Angel understands that too. It may not say so in the handbook,
but Slayers are only confused teenagers beneath everything else.
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TOO LATE
Giles didn't share the details, just enough so that Buffy and her friends would know
what they were against. He certainly wouldn't tell them that Eyghon was slow in taking
Randall, as if the demon wanted to enjoy his coming into the tangible realm.
He didn't want to tell Buffy about their usual behaviour after a casting. They had been so
young, so wild. When Randall put an arm around him, kissing him on the lips, his younger
self had thought nothing of it. He had just glanced around questioningly, Randall usually
went for Diedre first. But the girl was entangled with Ethan and Phillip, limbs and hands
entangled until it was difficult to tell which was whose.
So he kept kissing Randall, laughing when questing hands assaulted him. "So
different," his friend's voice had muttered against Giles' lips. He had just laughed
harder, not thinking twice when Randall's fingers curiously examined him. "So much
power, the most powerful of them." Giles had thrown his head back and paid no heed to
the ramblings. "You are next, Ripper," his friend had continued, a sudden
strength in his voice.
"Next for what?" Giles had meant to ask, half distracted by the sounds from the
trio close by. But the words had died in his throat when he was greeted by a yellow light.
"Eyghon." He jerked out of Randall's (no, not Randall) grasp. Suddenly the words
made a sickening kind of sense. "We casted you, we can send you back," he had
whispered, the words meant more to reassure himself than to scare the demon.
But the yellow eyes in Randall's young face told him that it was already too late. Even
when he alerted the others, even when he helped exorcise Eyghon and bury Randall's body,
Rupert Giles knew it was too late.
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INSCAPABLE
He thinks of her sometimes.
When he's repairing his newest bike, he thinks how annoyingly curious she could be. Her
voice was too innocent for his taste, her duty too dark for his health. He had to leave
her, of course he had to. That's when he stops thinking of her.
Some mornings he wakes up thirsty, throat raw of soundless screams he's learned not to
voice. His sleep comes easier by now, he has learned to withstand the memories creeping in
his dreams. He blames her for it. The lengths he goes to think of her.
He escaped of her once, but soon he'd discover he couldn't escape the truth she showed
him. Maybe that was when he learned to mute his nightmares, maybe... The world has turned
greyer than ever before thanks to her, but he won't thank her for making him see.
Ignorance is blissful, problem is, thinking of her makes him happy too.
He thrusts the stake into the undead flesh and turns around before it turns into dust. As
the silence accuses him that he should be doing this at her side, Pike thinks of her.
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LAND OF THE BLIND
As he lies in his hospital bed, Wesley tastes defeat clearly on his tongue. He finds the
taste familiar, as if it never really left. Maybe it didn't. He's failed before, back in
Sunnydale where he wasn't really wanted. Never did Wesley ever try to be wanted either. He
truly believed his post gave him the power but instead he found disappointment and mockery
in everybody's eyes.
But especially in Buffy's. Not even Faith's look held as much contempt as the first
Slayer's. He hadn't been enough for her and she went out of her way to tell him so. Wesley
had resented her. He had hated her. And God, how had he wanted to understand her.
Sometimes he'd wished to grab her shoulders and shake her. Shake her hard until she spilt
her secrets.
How did she dare be better than what he was prepared to handle?
In training she was more prepared, never letting him surprise her with a new move. In
patrol he was little more than a hindrance, Wesley sees that now, how even Alexander
Harris had known more about his Slayer's patterns than himself. Even during research, that
sacred duty of a Watcher, Buffy somehow managed to find the needed material before him.
And the last battle... Wesley almost chuckles at the memories. He'd done nothing while
Buffy found out the details. Nothing while she'd planned and raised an army. Nothing while
she'd fought... except that part where he'd gotten himself hurt and whisked to the
hospital. Wesley does remember that she never went to visit him afterwards, never asked
for his health. He knows the reason, of course, Buffy had probably cheered that he'd been
off her back. With good reason too.
Sunnydale was the bitterest of all failures, and three years later he's failed again.
Full circle, Wesley muses trying not to remember the gash in his throat, always walking in
circles with no way to break it. He doesn't need the pressure of a pillow on his face to
know how deep he'd cut. He certainly doesn't need to hear the vampire's accusations to
know he won't be forgiven.
Wesley thinks stubbornly that it isn't fair, that this hardly is the first time Angel
suffers at an ally's hands. He can quote Giles' recounting of how Acathla was defeated.
His ex charge betrayed Angel for the world, Wesley did it to protect his friend's son.
Buffy won him back afterwards, Wesley knows all his chances went with the babe into
Quor-Toth.
He wishes he could tell Buffy he has finally outdone her.
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THE 'L' WORD
Say it, a little voice told Buffy insistently. Buffy sighed, torn at her own
indecision under these circumstances. It shouldn't be so difficult, she thought
despairingly, they had been an official couple for months already, surely she'd be able to
do this?
But Buffy found she wasn't.
Despite all her screaming instincts she was glued to her chair, looking helplessly into
Angel's eyes. He'd asked the question and he deserved a quick answer. But Buffy couldn't
bring herself to say it. Because it was a selfish decision, it would please her immensely,
but what about him? How did he know she wouldn't choose wrong, that she wouldn't mess
things up? Did he really trust her that much?
Yet, surely he felt she had something to offer. Otherwise they wouldn't be at this place,
in this moment. Otherwise he would have never asked her. This was more than trust,
this was about...
It is now or never... That voice was right. If she didn't do it now, God knew when
she'd have a chance again. And, really, wouldn't this next step make things better between
them? Buffy looked at her boyfriend, who was standing before her, a hopeful look on his
face. Angel was waiting for her to decide, she knew that, and she had taken long enough.
But, was she ready for...?
Say it! her inner voice demanded. Defeated, she decided to follow her instincts.
"Leather." She pointed to the pants in Angel's left hand. "Definitely
leather."
Her boyfriend smiled, leaving the discarded black jeans in a bundle on the counter.
"I knew it was a good idea to bring you with me." As Angel went to pay for the
clothes, she congratulated herself on taking the right decision. "Leather it
is."
Oh YEAH! the voice cheered loudly. Buffy couldn't agree more.
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SOMETHING WICKED
I'm not like other kids my age. I don't even understand them anymore. Look at them,
galloping from one classroom to the next, do they even know why they do it? Helpless
lambs, that's all they are. Say the right words and they will obey you. Or not, don't say
anything, just point a finger in a direction and they'll trot mindlessly there. As long as
it's an authoritative finger, that is. What other reason could there be for a bitter man
like Snyder or the fragile Miss Calendar to be obeyed?
I only wish I had discovered this before, how weak and easy to manipulate my peers can be.
Everything would be different, I would have made it different. Fragile minds in
fragile bodies, say 'boo' and they'll run away, show some leg or a well-toned chest and
they'll run to you. But the knowledge came too late for me; I learned how power could be
used only after I had none anymore.
I'm ashamed of my past self, how she tried to fit with those sheep. But I'm not that girl
anymore, I'm better. They made me this way and I will make sure they get my thank you
note. Look at them, talking and touching each other at all times. It's so easy to analise
their patterns, so simple to discern who is who in their world. The queens, kings and
pawns of their weak-minded universe; it'd only take a shove to watch them tumble like
dominoes.
There is Cordelia and her little entourage. Even she is weak, maybe the weakest. Who would
she be without those annoying burdens attached to her skirts? Time to find out, little
princess, one step after another until you're as lonely as I used to be.
Have a nice summer too, Chase. In hell.
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