Dru was languorously licking the blood from her smile and shaking her head gleefully. "My poor Spike…."

A transubstantiation: Buffy’s face. Buffy’s voice.

"… so lost. Even I can’t help you now."

Then they were waltzing: a prayer to her grace.

"You treat me like a man."

Buffy smiled up at him – a benediction. "You know I’ll never love you. Don’t you?"

Spike lay, transfixed and worshipful, while she rode him into the ground.

When she smiled down at him, the lights above and behind her transformed her hair into a golden halo, casting her face into shadow.

"You’re beneath me."