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Story Notes:
Originally posted November 30, 2004
The color was too light.

He wanted a rich burgundy, loving the contrast of the dark red hue against the pale white canvas. Instead, he had something closely resembling a dark pink. It just would not do at all, he decided crossly. The design he was creating would not have such an aesthetic beauty if it was primarily a faded red.

Laying the feather he had been using as a brush down, he set about creating the vibrant deep burgundy that was present in his mental design. He should have begun drawing earlier, when the colors were more to his liking. However, his current creation had not occurred to him until recently. He had been laying in bed, sated and content, when the image had flashed in his mind.

He’d wasted no time getting his supplies together and preparing his canvas. Working by candlelight, preferring the way the soft light cast shadows on the pristine white canvas compared to the unflattering electric lights above, he had used a feather to draw. The method was as old as time and his favorite to use on this type of canvas. Charcoals and lead were fine for the thick paper he used for sketching, but they would not do for this creation.

The tip of the feather had moved over his canvas, defining the lines and curves of his design. Using the flat end of the feather, he had added definition and contrast to the precise lines and curves. He was very pleased with the design, but the color was all wrong and it was distracting him from the remainder of the design.

Spreading her legs further apart, oblivious to her soft moan of anguish and pain at the action, he moved between them, his head cocked to the side as he examined his source of color. The blood was barely flowing now, that being the reason for the pale color. Moving his finger along one bite mark on her shoulder blade, he scraped his fingernail into the wound, deepening it until blood began to spill more heavily. Rich burgundy, the exact shade he needed for his art.

“Do stop your moving, Willow,” Angelus scolded sharply, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as his captive whimpered pitifully. He had intended to simply rape her then kill her, leaving her as a gift for Buffy to show how much he cared. Once he’d had the shy redhead, however, his plans had changed. He was going to keep her. After all, her beautiful back, so pale and smooth, made the loveliest canvas he’d seen in years.

The End.