Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just kill her. Killing is an art though and it would have to be special. It’d have to be a day when Wesley and the other members of Angel Investigations expect her to be all sunny-filled and light, where they expect her to bounce in on a high – and then be crushed when she doesn’t.
I like to imagine the look on the Watcher’s face as he comes across her body. His ashen face as he sees the Seer laying face down in a pool of her own blood. But now isn’t the time.
Every night I come to her, her spirit is worn down a little more. I could break her completely. I could snap that spirit right in half if I wanted to. I find myself touching her softly, gently – so that she can try and fight the obvious arousal. I know who she sees me as. She sees him. My pathetic alter ego.
I think, had I had a bit more time, I would have broken the Slayer. Buffy. She would have been fun to break. It makes me wonder who’s the stronger of the two. Cordelia, occasionally, fights back with that fire in her eyes that I love.
Yes. That fire in her eyes I love.
I’m a demon, certainly. People think we can’t feel, can’t see, can’t hear… But there’s nothing so beautiful as the sound of a crushing spirit between your fingertips, KNOWING that you were the one to wear her down that little bit more to the point where she snapped. Isn’t a sound like it in the world.
I think, perhaps, if Acathla hadn’t arrived when it did, I would have taken my time with Buffy. I’ve never actually killed a Slayer, from what I hear from Spike, the high is almost like a drug, addictive – reeling you in like a hook in the stomach (and I would know), capturing you, taunting and teasing until she takes that final breath in your arms. So yeah, I would have liked to have broken her.
But for now, my sights are set on this beautiful, wilful brunette. Maybe she thinks that if she believes it’s him, it won’t be as hard. I proved her wrong last night. She called out his name, and as punishment, I hurt her in ways I don’t think she could have imagined.
And still, before I left, as she watched me leave by the window I came, she shot me a glare before going to shower. Get rid of the things I’d done to her? Probably. I imagine she’s still sore now. That makes me happy. It also means she won’t call his name tonight. See, tonight, I’ll play a different game.
Tonight, I’ll be gentle, loving and tender. All the things her Angel was – because at the point where she thinks I’m going to kill her, like she did last night, I can change tacks, be gentle… Assault her body with tender ministrations that will make her weep.
Never let someone believe that a demon can’t be gentle, or kind… We’ve just got to want to do it badly. Maybe, my being gentle will make his name slip from her lips but tonight, I won’t punish her, I’ll still be loving and kind, let her believe that her Angel has returned.
And then tomorrow night? She’ll hurt in ways that only I can inflict upon her. Make her forget all about the tenderness of the night before, and why? Because I can. Because it’s fun.
See, the musings of a soulless vampire aren’t all that complicated really, are they? We break them, then we rejoice but the way I do it – it’s an art… And she knows this. For every time I touch her, she begs me to do it. Begs me to feed, snap her neck – kill her, let her join her Angel in Heaven. And that’s when I remind her…
She’s fucking a demon. The only place she’s going is Hell and unfortunately for her? The only face she’ll see when she gets there is mine.