Requiem For A Nun

Title: Requiem For A Nun

Author: Judy/BeatleSpike/Miss Ronette

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own Drusilla or Angelus, or the concept of her rebirth as a vampire. I also don't own the hymn "Immaculate Mary". I don't know who does, but I certainly don't.

Distribution: My site, SG site, MK site, and if you want it, just ask!

Feedback: For the love of God, send it!

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The stars are screaming at me. Screaming for me to be careful. I am trying to ignore them, for soon I will be a sister of the holy order of God. I, Drusilla Ann Nelson, will become Sister Anna Maria in just a few short hours.

Maria. The mother of God.

"Immaculate Mary, your praises we sing. You reign now in heaven with Jesus our king. Ave, Ave, Ave Maria. Ave, Ave Maria," I sing softly, giddy with excitement.

I hear one of the novices whisper loudly, "Is that the girl who's crazy?"

Another novice stage-whispers back, "Yeah. She thinks that the stars and moon talk to her. And have you seen that ugly doll she always carries around?"

A third giggles nastily, "Eww. She's a real loony, if you ask me."

They hurt me with their words. But they can't hurt me more than Angelus can. And he's hurt me so very much...

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In January I went to see Father O'Hannigan. He's an Irishman, who are usually not to be trusted, but as he's a priest it's all right. He told me that I was a devil child, the spawn of Satan. "God is watching you," he had said. But as I walked desolately out of the church I came upon his corpse.

Then I fled home, to my childhood doll Miss Edith. Ever since I was six I've had her. I got her for a Christmas pressie. I thought she was real, with her fair skin and lady's clothes. I told her all my secrets, and she always listened. But Miss Edith didn't start speaking to me until recently. Because now she has something to say.

Someone began to leave things for me on the doorstep. At first they were innocent: a single white rose, a bottle of perfume. But one day I received a bouquet of daisies. A handmade card was tucked into the ribbon. It was a drawing of a dead daisy, and written in red ink--no, blood--was the sentence "God is watching you." I threw the card away but kept the flowers. My father's suspicion of my having a man around was at its peak.

"Drusilla, is there somethin' ye're not tellin' us? You got a young man we should know about?" Father asked, that menacing, horrible expression on his face that I'd learned early on in life to fear.

"No, Father, I swear! There's nobody!"

Mother gave me an imploring look. "Dru, tell the truth," she begged me. "Please." She knew as well as the rest of us did what my father could do in a rage.

He never really meant it, she would tell us. Father only did it because he loved us and worried about us. I believed her. Now that everyone's dead, I know it was all a lie. She was living in a dream world, trying to make it real.

"Mother, Father, I am telling the truth! I really am!"

"I don't know why I'm not believin' you, you little whore," Father growled. Then he hit me so hard I was knocked across the room.

"John! Don't hit her!"

"Are you lookin' to have a shiner too?"

Mother cowered in the corner opposite me. "No," she whispered.

She stayed there the whole time while my own father beat me senseless.

When I came to, my opressor was lying in a pool of blood. So was my mother. I was almost glad that Father was dead. He couldn't hurt anyone ever again. But Mother...

I loved Mother. I can't describe how much. My love for her was unconditional and boundless. I was her favorite, out of all of us children. Perhaps because I was the oldest of us. The other three were found in the same state.

It was all too much for me. I ran to the convent with Miss Edith, knowing who had killed my family. At the convent I sought solace in God. I worked hard and was a favorite of the nuns. Novices and other girls who were to become nuns didn't like me. Because they thought I was crazy...

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I lean against an ancient pillar and begin to cry. The memories are too much.

"Drusilla..." a voice whispers from somewhere. "Drusilla..."

"Who's there?" I ask fearfully. For I know it's him. The person who's been stalking me for nearly a year.

"You don't know me except in your visions." I can tell by the accent that it's an Irishman. So that's how he was able to do it in the confessional. It's Angelus. The name comes to me at full force.

Then a sharp pain pierces my neck and everything goes black. The last thing I remember is him telling me to drink from a cut in his wrist...

~The End~

Email: judy_slayer@gurlmail.com