His dark queen moves when she sleeps now.

Her body no longer silent with death as she rests, she shakes and turns and coils, with the turbulence of her dreams. Spike wonders, as he watches over his poor Drusilla, what terrors could leave a vampire so weak when she wakes. Does she relive that mob in Prague - ripping, pulling, burning, screaming? Do the gates of hell open into her mind?

He places his cool palm upon her fitful brow and she calms, leaning into the caress. He’ll hold her and he’ll fix her and she’ll be strong again.

Soon.