Dangerous coming back, because daddy's stinky-soul-filled and mad, but then, Dru is mad too, they've told her, and danger tickles, it shivers like candlelight. Dru wants Grandmother to live, or not-live, and be with her. Blonde hair rivers over black deathdirt, white silk and pale skin and now she's human, now she's not.

Dru tastes blood. Blazing bright, fire on her tongue.

Grandmother tastes good, and yes, she can taste Dru too, and oh--yes; yes, Dru remembers this, a hundred and fifty years stolen when Spike and daddy were too busy being men, busy with each other. They are bad boys. But Grandmother is hers, a daughter now, a doll, something to play with, someone who will wake up and not go still and empty like her birds.

Dru is hungry now, and Grandmother's eyes open, and she smiles happy-hungry-lazy-pleased. Dru dances, starmusic inside her, and Darla watches, and laughs, and says yes, they can play while they hunt. They find pretty girls with shining dresses, silk shimmering like torchlight, and their blood is warm as embers.

Dru lays back on piles of clothes and Grandmother is warm like the dead girls, warm like ashes, and soon Dru is warm too, the world tilts, and she can fly; yes, she is flying, blood on her tongue and Darla's tongue on her. Phoenix-flying, falling upwards, rewind the world, remember this, Grandmother, remember?

Dru remembers; she remembers hearthfires and candles, she remembers stars like nasty sunlight, and oh, she could die here, or then, or sometime that is other.

The fire is beautiful before it burns.

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November 12, 2004