Title:
“One Soul For the Price of Two,” or “Happy Birthday,
Susi!”
Author: Kendra
A. (kendraangelusslayer@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Pairing:
Darla/Angel in the most roundabout sort of way, and a very-much-so Willow/Angel
Summary:
What’s killing Darla in ‘The Trial’ isn’t her
heart—it’s her soul.
Spoilers: S5
BtVS and S2 AtS
Distribution:
STTEOT (http://www.redssoulmates.com),
Bite Me… Please? (http://willsvamps.topcities.com),
Fanfiction.Net (http://www.fanfiction.net),
UCSL (http://www.dymphna.net/ucsl),
Temptation Embraced (http://www.1freespace.com/temptation),
Near Her Always (http://www.nearheralways.com)
and my own site, *blurry* (http://www.iceblur.dot.nu).
Do you want this? Just ask.
Author’s
Notes: For her birthday, Susi (of STTEOT) issued a challenge: write her a
birthday story that was Willow/Angel with smut, angst and romance (Spike can be
their knight in shining armor, but not paired with Willow—that’s a
no-no). The story has to be three chapters at least. Here’s my attempt at
making her happy.
- Prologue -
Darkness had
fallen, but Darla had not moved.
She sat, still
and silent, before the vanity in the dim motel room. A clouded and cracked mirror
was the focus of her attention; though it had been what seemed like hours since
the last flash, she waited patiently.
As she waited,
she studied her reflection deliberately—it had been so long since
she’d seen it, after all. Four hundred years, she thought ironically, and still
surprises.
Darla examined
the stiff blonde hair and pouty lips with indifference; she noted the
still-pale cheeks and cautious dark eyes framed with thick lashes. The straight
nose and high forehead were next. Nothing much seemed to have changed.
The wristwatch
given to her by Wolfram & Hart ticked gently on the vanity. It was almost
hypnotic, almost enough to loll her to sleep, almost enough to make her let
down her guard and miss the flash when it came, but Darla managed to keep her
eyes trained steadily on the mirror, waiting.
Always,
waiting…
And suddenly,
after the darkness had become all-encompassing and all of her hearing trained
on the delicate watch gently ticking, the flash came.
It came suddenly
through the black—bright, glaring light, more strongly than it had ever
come before, shining so whitely her vision glittered with tears. The soothing
ticking of the watch disappeared beneath the great silent roar that overtook
her, and Darla rocked dizzily on the bench in front of the vanity in the midst
of the flash. Then her rolling eyes managed to focus on her reflection, and the
brilliant light dimmed to a glow and the roaring to a purr.
There, writhing
in the mirror where her reflection should be, was a girl—no, a young
woman, long and slender. The stranger hugged herself tightly, clutching at her
abdomen as she doubled over. She screamed without sound, and her chapped lips
cracked and bled. Darla watched her, transfixed, until the same pain this girl
was feeling swept inside her own
body and tore her open from larynx to diaphragm.
Darla fell to
the floor, tearing with short-nailed fingers at her stomach, screaming with a
hoarse throat for the torture to stop, for it to end, she’d do anything for it to end. The
flash took over again, sweeping over and under and through her, blinding and
deafening, but Darla could still hear her own pleas entwining with the
strangers’, and then it all went black.
When Darla woke,
she was not alone, and the pain had not left.
She clawed at
the worn carpet on the floor of the motel room and managed to somehow get to
her hands and knees. She crawled to the vanity and pulled herself up just far
enough to look into the mirror.
Though the hair
was still blonde, shoulder-length, stiff from a little too much blow-drying and
spray—though the eyes were still dark blue and framed with thick brown
lashes—though her pout was still fully functional, her skin still pale,
her nose still short and straight and her forehead high—she was not alone
in her reflection.
“Get out
of my head!” she screamed at the mirror. Her voice barely rasped above a
whisper, so hoarse was it from her earlier screams.
And from within
the dark depths of Darla’s eyes, Willow Rosenberg wept.
