But this doll was not shut up in a glass case or put high on a shelf; it was tossed carelessly by the side of the path. Willow picked it up, cradling it gently, afraid the fragile looking doll would break if she looked at it the wrong way.
Enough of her mother's porcelain doll fetish had rubbed off for her to know that this was not a modern reproduction. It was dressed in a very old-fashioned manner. Willow thought it might have been Victorian, with a high lace collar and a severely corseted gown that was all embroidery and lace.
"You're a funny little thing, aren't you? All dressed in black like you were off to a funeral." Willow spoke quietly to the doll. "Someone must be missing you." The doll's age and pristine appearance made it unlikely that the careless owner had been a child. As she examined the doll more carefully, a luggage tag slipped out from beneath the many layers of petticoats to dangle from an ornate shoe.
The address was nearby and as there was still plenty of light left in the day, Willow decided that her good deed would be reuniting the doll with its owner.
A short walk brought her to the address printed on the luggage tag. Willow knocked on the door, the doll cradled tenderly in her arms. There was no response from the occupants, but the door was slightly ajar, pushing it open she called out, asking if anybody was home.
"And who have you brought to meet Mummy?"
The voice startled Willow. It took her a moment to realise that the elegant woman in the Gothic attire was not addressing her but the doll in her arms. She tried to stammer a reply but was frozen as the beautiful English woman drifted towards her, before Willow realised what was happening a pale hand had grasped her chin in a surprisingly strong grip and she found herself being examined closely.
"Miss Vivienne has been very naughty, she shan't have tea and biscuits. But she brought me a lovely treasure, she did."
"A-a-a treasure," Willow stuttered, unable to take her eyes from Drusilla's.
"Oh yes. A dark paragon of beauty, all bloody and violence. I've seen you, you tortured Daddy, burned him until he screamed." Willow tried to deny that she'd hurt anybody, but Drusilla quieted her with a gentle kiss. "Hush, my wicked angel. Mummy wants to see what lovely games are in your head."
Drusilla twirled Willow around the room, the doll pressed between them, in a stiff embrace. Willow was deposited in an armchair and Miss Vivienne was whisked away to join the other dolls on a shelf. The doll was still apparently in Drusilla's bad books, as Willow noticed that she not only facing away from the room and the other dolls but was also sporting a blindfold.
"I really should be going, my friends are expecting me." Willow tried to ease her way out of the chair and make a break for door, but Drusilla moved quicker than was humanly possible.
"You mustn't go yet, my poppet. We have lots to talk about. A tea party." Willow blinked at the sudden change of topic, finding it difficult to decide if the fractured flow of conversation was more or less disturbing than Drusilla clapping her hands in glee and bouncing around the room like a deranged ballerina in search of suitable crockery.
Willow had to admit that the performance involved in creating the tea party was elaborate and beautiful, if overly laden with superstition and a touch of madness. Teacups were chosen and rejected for reasons known only to Drusilla. Too light, too dark, wrong flower, a cat, a clown, a seemingly endless array of cups and mugs were inspected before the appropriate items were discovered.
Drusilla chose a delicate teacup with a marigold design for herself and a novelty mug bearing a cypress for Willow. Then began the making and pouring of the tea, interspersing the ceremony with instructions in drinking it in the correct manner. Giles was never so fussy over his preparation of tea.
As soon as Willow was finished, Drusilla snatched the mug from her hands and peered into its interior, frowning occasionally but more often than not, making small sounds of delight.
The performance was enough to pique Willow's curiosity and override her desire for freedom. With Drusilla showing no intention of explaining her entrancement with the tea leaves, Willow stood and joined the other woman in staring into the mug. "What do you see?"
"The ones who'll hold your heart." Drusilla giggled and smiled sweetly. "A puppy. All pretty red fur and fangs. I once had a puppy just like that. We used to take walks in the park and make sport of the bad men." Willow nodded at the mug, hoping for more insight into her future. "A girl who shines like the sun and has the voice of the angels, but her insides are hidden by chains of fear. She tastes of chocolate and dandelions."
Gasping in shock, Drusilla threw the mug across the room, it shattered in the fireplace, sending shards bouncing back into the room. A large piece of the base, still bearing a scattering of tea leaves, spun to a stop at Willow's feet. She backed away from Drusilla, bumping against the armchair and stepping behind it, using it as a shield between herself and the other woman.
Drusilla was fluttering her hands in indecision. By nature she was a creature of emotion and immediacy. What she saw, she took and was just as likely to discard in favour of a different shiny toy. But now she'd seen something that caused her to consider the option of not turning Willow into her new plaything.
A vampire Willow would be a companion that would share her dark joys. Someone she could play with and who would dance in her bed, all pale limbs and soft red hair. But the leaves told her of a path for Willow that crackled with magic, a path littered with bodies and vengeance. Drusilla shivered in delight at the fragmented images of death and devastation that she saw in the leaves.
Opening her eyes she spotted Willow edging towards the door again. Drusilla took the girl's hand to prevent her escape and held it to her lips. Willow trembled in fear, but Drusilla could smell the underlying scent of arousal. Turning the small hand, she licking the palm with slow deliberation. Willow's legs weakened at the touch of tongue to skin and she stumbled into Drusilla's arms. Taking advantage of Willow's reaction, Drusilla claimed the girl's lips, pressing her against the wall to further block her avenue of escape.
The kiss demanded all of Willow's attention, leaving thoughts of flight to evaporate in the heat of the moment. She didn't realise that her hands had started to roam Drusilla's body as the kiss deepened. She moaned, rubbing against the other woman as Drusilla pulled back to smile at her. A smile that promised both pleasure and pain, although it would always be a surprise to find out which of the sensations was about to be bestowed.
"Does my pretty, dark princess want more of her Mummy's attentions?" She ran clever fingers over Willow's body, fingers that caused mews of excitement and need as they dipped between legs and met the heat that was creating such delicious scents. Willow thrust into the questing fingers.
"She wants to play, does she. Mummy knows lots of lovely games." Drusilla's hand reached under Willow's loose shirt, snaking under the waistband of her pants and into the throbbing moistness of her folds. Long delicate fingers stroked and rubbed until Willow cried out and collapsed in shuddering limpness against the woman.
Drusilla held Willow tightly, stroking her hair and whispering endearments in her ear. Promises that she would be Mummy's girl again some day, but not this day. That day was long in the future. A day when pretty puppies and shiny angels had long since departed. The day would come when the dark princess blossomed into her own, when her Mummy would seek her out and claim her for always.
A gentle kiss and pat on the bottom saw Willow on her way home. She smiled to herself at the memory of how good the other woman had felt against her.
It would be months before Willow learned that Drusilla was a vampire. And while she was shocked to hear that the previous tenants of the house had been found in the attic, drained of their blood and carefully arranged in a formal picnic setting, there was a part of her that craved the touch of the dark-haired woman again. She would console herself in those moments of need with the memory of Drusilla's vow that she would seek her out again some day and smiled to herself in anticipation.
maybedarkpink's Druficathon for sigrun — Drusilla/Willow, set any time, no fluff
Many thanks to nihilistbear for volunteering as beta and bouncing title ideas around.