Mechanics Of Death
by itsacraze

Fred runs her fingers over the silver handle of her hairbrush. She remembers her mother giving it to her for her sixteenth birthday, not too long before she was taken to Pylea. But both that birthday and her cross-dimensional kidnapping seem like distant dreams, the kind you forget after you wake up and the sun wipes it away. Fred won't have to worry about that anymore. Her vanity is covered in the silver-plated things her mother gave her, and everything is just as she left it. Fred picks up her hand mirror and holds it up to her face. The lack of reflection makes her giggle.

Fred's mind is still high from the sex, the kill, the rush that went with blood and sex and a warm body. Fred can see her companion behind her lack of reflection and she absently licks a smudge of blood from the corner of her mouth.

She runs the brush through her hair once before placing it back exactly as she found it. She stands and pushes the vanity stool under, stretching her limbs slowly, loving the way her heightened senses let her hear each bone pop into place, each muscle strain briefly. She glances to the bed where her new companion lies still, her arms thrown out crucifix-style on either side of her body.

"Cordelia." Fred sings the name, her voice still soft and childlike. She crawls up the length of the bed, stretching out next to the woman's body. Their bare skins touch, and Cordelia is still warm. But Fred no longer hears the pumping of blood, the thudding of a human heart. Tiny rivulets of blood run down Cordy's neck and chest, staining her breasts.

Fred licks away some of the slightly dried blood and brushes Cordelia's hair out of her wide-open eyes. Her fingers travel over the perfect body, the tiny scars. The would-be actress' lips are stained with Fred's blood, and swollen from the hard kisses she'd received and given just before Fred sank her fangs into that perfect neck. How willing Cordelia had been, how she had cried out in ecstasy and pain as she died slowly, as her heart began to stop. How eagerly she had taken Fred's wrist and drank, Fred's fingers still buried deep inside her.

This kill was different from the others. No malice, no hate, just desire and heat. Fred can remember Charles' horrified eyes, Wesley's tears. Oh poor boys, you couldn't save your beloved Fred This time, though, her victim moaned into her death, practicly welcomed it. And when Cordelia sank into oblivion, and Fred's forever-scientific mind marveled at the mechanics of death, she wanted it. And who wouldn't?

It's been an hour, but she is still warm. Her skin is still California-tan, she still feels alive. This will pass, Fred knows, and she is already impatient. Angelus is waiting downstairs and she wants him to meet the new addition to their little family...

"Wake up, princess." Fred mutters, brushing Cordelia's eyes shut, "I hate waiting."


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