Dec 27, 2011 19:45
The city of Taxon was always full of ghosts. Not just the ghosts left behind by old glitches, but the ghosts of the people that should have lived in and could have lived in the city. The ghosts of the prisoners who had come and gone.
As the festive season crept along, bringing the snow with it and gifting all the naughty boys and girls with stockings full of coal, the ghosts grew louder and louder. Usually, Drusilla was the only one who paid attention to them. These days, everybody seemed to be listening.
She found her dear little sisters - their throats opened by Angelus when he snatched away their lifeblood - waiting for her in the park. She wondered if they blamed her for their deaths. It had been her fault, after all. They had died because he’d been hunting her.
Drusilla didn’t ask. Drusilla spread out the picnic blanket on the snow, pouring a cup of tea for each spectral figure and a cup of blood for herself.
“We’re having terrible weather,” she noted, conversationally. “I’ll need to make Miss Edith a new winter coat.”
Little Anne didn’t answer. She simply watched her sister with dead and unblinking eyes.
# event,
/system glitch,
drusilla (au),
@ wilde