Amen It was something she could no more help, than a moth could avoid moonlight or an evening's flame. To England, she had gone. Not just one place, but several. Was it every year or only at certain times? Or perhaps this was the first. It mattered little, for one so divorced from the concept of time.
London was a very different area, these days. Far more urban and dressed in concrete. One of the locations to where she drifted now had a supermarket situated nearby. At a call from someone nearby, asking if they could lend assistance, she said nothing. Only continued to look ahead, as if lost in thought. The truth of it being far from so superficial, needless to say. No, she saw... Drusilla always saw. Often could not help but see too much, just as she had done in life. Now her heart no could longer beat exclusively with her own blood, but instead hungered for that taken from others.
Happy times, Drusilla recalled, but also sad. Tragic. Impossibly so. For these were not nice places. Their meaning was undoubtedly lost to any other. Only she kept it. Would continue to do so, for as long as she could exist. Almost everything she did or said, somehow sprang from what those memories represented.
Mother, father, uncle...
Little Anne.
So many, both friends and family. Even some she hardly even knew. All of it meticulously planned. All of it, so 'daddy' said, done to teach her lessons. One, above all, most especially: The lesson of being unable to hide. Unable to run away. Unable to escape, for he would find her. Find her and never let go.
From one place to another, the vampire would drift. The scenes where those loved ones fell, clear as day to her all-seeing eye. She never had to physically be there, of course. She just knew. Had visions. Experienced 'the sight'. Saw their pain, beheld the monster and even, towards the end, saw herself. What the dark wanted her to be. What it had designs on changing her into. Walking sin, indeed. Snake... Snake in the woodshed. Snakes a-slithering all about.
Drusilla was in mourning. A time which could never be passed, for her. Something she could not move on from, by virtue of how very much it had crafted her. Shattered this doll to remake her, anew. So much so, not even she might dare to consider herself worthy of crawling from under his shadow.
Their bodies might have died. Their memories would not.