*Shamelessly stolen and repurposed? I would never! Eh, sod it, ya got me.
Story time then is it? Fine, gather 'round ladies and gents and let me tell you a story. A tale about a right sorry excuse for a human being named Willow. Born in London, 1853. Lived a life of little note for 27 years, though did manage a small scandal or two, norms of the time being what they were. Attended a party one night, wound up making a fool of herself and fleeing into the night. Cried on a bridge until hearing a voice say the words that would change, and end, her life..
"And I wonder, what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this charming stranger to tears?"
Now on to the good stuff. Died and reborn in London, 1880. Sired by Drusilla and essentially adopted into the Scourge, the most feared group of vampires of at least the last several centuries. She may have been nothing as a human, but not as a vampire. Over the years she even adopted a new moniker, one she earned from a creative use of railroad implements on human flesh. Spike. Once she grew strong enough, she earned another. One gained from hunting the ones that hunted her kind. The Slayer of Slayers.
As it happens, this tale hasn't ended quite yet. Not for lack of trying by several sods, but here I am all the same. The Scourge broke up around the turn of the 20th century, but no reason to go moaning on about it. The modern world spits out some new kind of fun every day and there are still so many flavors of Happy Meals on legs left to try! Time for the next chapter to start. You gonna make an appearance?
