Drusilla had no soul to keep her in check, only her own ideas about loyalty and love. The knowledge of her childhood had been twisted and shattered and rebuilt, leaving her with an ideology that was all her own. She was loyal when she wanted to be, but she'd betray those she loved if the stars whispered the right words or they needed to be pushed down their path. (Sometimes, she knew what they needed even if they would hate her for it.)

"The unicorn," she confirmed with a nod, "I've always wondered what they'd taste like."

Sweet, probably. Like sunlight and rainbows and spring time.