Title: In Her Hands, Six Seeds of the Pomegranate. Book 1
Summary: Cordelia is haunted.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Whedon, Fox, ME.
Notes: Set after my ficlet Persephone Lies Dreaming, the summer before BtVS s3. AU after Killed By Death and a loose sequel to my fic Collatoral Lover. Written in the second person POV.
Before, you shied from shadows, from dark places. You instinctively sought the light, the open spaces. You know, deep in your caveman brain, that it is safest when you can see and feel the sun on your skin.
So it’s a surprise when you open your eyes and realize you’ve been standing on your back lawn in the dead of night, arms wide open as your toes curl in the damp grass. There’s no clock or watch but you know it’s long after midnight, and one terrified glance up to the house tells you all the lights are out.
No one’s home.
You are alone out here, with not even the reflected light of the moon to chase away the pitch dark night.
Dropping your arms, you pull into yourself, feeling the cold as it seeps into your pores like water into the cracked desert floor.
But you don’t.
But you can’t.
The night embraces you, cold and wet, and you shiver.
Something thick and wet slides slowly down the side of your neck and without touching it you know the wound is bleeding again.
It bleeds when you are scared. It bleeds to remind you of the one who took your safety and your light. It bleeds to claim you, over and over, again and again, until you feel his fetid breath again on your neck, his sharp teeth dividing your flesh and drinking your soul.
You shake, on the damp bare grass of your parents’ backyard, and wait for Death to claim you.
You want to ask Him something.
You want to ask Him why he didn’t take you before, why he left you to this half life of shadows in the light with the taste of His blood on your tongue, and the stars spinning in the sky above your head.
And like an answering prayer, a sound comes from the dark woods.
He stares from the shelter of the trees, pale face smiling at you, teeth gleaming like knives.
You open your arms, smiling.
You wake up, screaming.