(*(*(*(*)*)*)*)

(Yesterday I went outside
With my momma's mason jar
Caught a lovely Butterfly
When I woke up today
And looked in on my fairy pet
She had withered all away
No more sighing in her breast

I'm sorry for what I did
I did what my body told me to
I didn't mean to do you harm

But everytime I pin down what I think I want
it slips away - the ghost slips away

I smell you on my hand for days
I can't wash away your scent
if I'm a dog then you're a bitch

I guess you're as real as me
maybe I can live with that
maybe I need fantasy

a life of chasing Butterfly
I told you I would return
When the robin makes his nest
but I ain't never comin' back

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry)

*********

Alexander Lavelle Harris was dead. In his place was a hard man, a man who'd been killed both in body and spirit. A vampire had killed his body, and robbed him of his light hearted, goofy soul. Her name was Faith. And she wanted him. She wanted him like no other.

But he wanted Cordelia. And gods below, he'd had her, as a human. But like the ever elusive butterfly, she was gone, lost to him forever in a fit of anger, hatred, and the baring of a pair of fangs.

He still remembered the last night they'd been together. It had been in summertime, just before she'd left to pursue her dreams of becoming an actress. She screamed, cried, laughed and been in pain. But at long last, she'd succumbed, and he didn't know who initiated it, but they were in each others arms, kissing furiously, clothes were shed and they, somehow were devouring each other like there was no tomorrow. And there wasn't.

After they were through, she looked at him with such a look of disgust, that his heart broke in two. But you know, if he was such the dog she believed him to be, then she was definitely the bitch to his dog.

They were mated, whether she knew it, or chose to understand that. But forever and forever, she was his Venus, his Madonna, his goddess in all of his fantasies.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what he needed. A fantasy. Something to think about when he was copulating other women, demons that he used solely for his own pleasure, his food, his torture play toys.

Back in high school, she was what every man and some of the girls wanted. And he got her. But she slipped away. And her scent, her essence, the very *thing* that made her Cordelia, stayed with him, in his blood, on his clothes, his body, his mind.

Even now. He lifted a hand to his nose and sniffed, the lingering scent awakening memories and a hardening to his groin. He groaned, a mixture of agony and extasy at the single thought of her.

With a growl, he shook his head visciously, clearing the fog and the memory of a lifetime of chasing butterflies. A final sigh, and two spoken words, aimed up at a darkened window in a large house in the good side of Sunnydale.

"I'm sorry."

THE END.