Time Turner
. . . fiction by Odyssea
. . .Stars Are Dancing. . .
As they traveled through the capitals of Europe, Drusilla collected porcelain dolls. In Paris, it was a ballerina, wearing a ruffled tutu and miniature pink tights. In Madrid, a tiny doll with unblinking eyes wearing a matador's outfit. And the last, in Budapest, a delicate English princess with rose pink cheeks and a frilly white tea gown.
"Just like Mummy," Drusilla cooed, dancing around the tiny, crowded toy store with the doll cradled in her arms.
"Are you just about through here, Dru?" Spike asked, stepping over the dead shopkeeper.
"Somebody's going to notice you dancing around, and there is a limit to the violence I'm willing to do for a doll."
He paused. "Actually, there isn't, but I am against doing it here. Come along, pet."
Drusilla ignored his outstretched hand and continued her weaving, sinuous dance. "Can't you feel them, you naughty boy?" She waggled an outstretched finger. "The stars are singing to me, telling me to find my dancing lady. And I found her."
She held the doll up to her ear. "Now, tell me your name, pet, or I'll have to punish you. Oh, Edith! Spike, this is Miss Edith."
Spike glanced over, then turned back to the glazed window. "That's nice, Dru, but can we get out of here? I'm bloody tired of dolly shops and I'm tired of bloody Hungary. They're too clever by half about us here."
He crossed the room and picked Drusilla up roughly. "What do you say, love? Let's pack up and head out of this place. Where should we go? Moscow? Istanbul? Prague?"
"Ooh, Prague. They have castles there with lovely dungeons filled with lots of naughty toys for us to play with."
"That's my girl," Spike said, nipping the end of her nose with his teeth. Drusilla giggled, then frowned suddenly.
"You're a naughty girl, Miss Edith, talking to me like that. I don't think I'll give you any biscuits tonight at supper. Naughty talking about your Mummy going to Prague that way." She shook the doll like an unruly child.
"Are we done here, Dru?" Spike asked, as Dru stomped towards the door.
"Yes. We are going to Prague, no matter what naughty Miss Edith says."
*****
Two weeks later, Spike ducked into the burned out building. He had left Dru in a crypt, burned completely. Who knew there were still mobs with flaming torches roaming about Europe? The mob managed to catch them outside of the house they'd commandeered, and before long , everything was in flames. Spike had managed to get them out, but not before some snarling woman had stuck a torch straight into Dru.
Now, Spike sought to find whatever was left. There was barely anything remaining in the smouldering ruins. On a shelf above the tattered bed, Drusilla's porcelan dolls lay in ruins, clothes burnt and delicate heads imploded from the heat. Yet on the end of the shelf, Miss Edith sat, completely intact, her white dress spotless.
"Well, I'll be damned," Spike muttered.
Later, reunited with her precious doll, Drusilla grinned horribly. "Oh, you've come home to your Mummy, precious girl. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. What's that you say? We're going to see Daddy?"
"What's that, Dru?" Spike asked, looking at her quizzically.
"Nothing, pet." Secretly, Drusilla talked with Miss Edith. "Sunnydale, you say? I've been longing to see Daddy!"
| |
|
|
|
|
|