Drusilla liked this pale and desperate face of his. It was vulnerable. He was vulnerable.

She realised, now, that he didn't wear any sort of mask. They were both real, but the one that he wore when he killed - when he tried to kill - was the most real of all. If she peeled if off, there would be nothing more than bones and flesh underneath.

"My dinner never does," she said. That was how she liked it. They begged for life, not to be eaten.