"Lost lost lost lost lost." She clutched her face in her hands. She loved him. LOVED him, blackly, bleakly. A macabre need for him. He made her dead heart dance. He always had.

With his pants still in her possession, Drusilla rocked back and forth on the bed. She was trying to comprehend it. He was back, but he was different, and he wasn't himself. But he loved her. But he wouldn't prove it.

She moaned.