Chapter 1
“Becoming Drusilla”
A dark, character-driven Buffy fanfiction scene built around a Dru–Buffy body-shift, echoing the Faith/Buffy switch but with a supernatural twist and a permanent consequence. With non-graphic violence and a focus on emotion, identity, and transformation. A character-driven, alternate-universe, post-Season 5 tone
One
Buffy knew something was wrong the moment Drusilla stepped out of the shadows. Not wrong in the usual “vampire wants to kill me” way—this was different. Dru’s eyes were too calm, too focused, as if the chaos inside her had finally gone silent.
“Little Slayer,” Drusilla whispered, voice soft as silk. “You’ve been wearing the wrong skin for so long.”
Buffy tightened her grip on the stake. “Dru, whatever you’re planning, it’s not happening.”
“Oh, but it already has.” Drusilla lifted a small glass vial, glowing faintly like moonlight trapped in water. “A gift. A trade. A way to make you mine.”
Buffy lunged, but Dru didn’t fight. She simply pressed the vial into Buffy’s hand, curling Buffy’s fingers around it with eerie tenderness.
“It knows you,” Dru murmured. “It’s been waiting.”
The glass shattered between Buffy’s fingers—light spilled out, cold and bright, wrapping around her like a net. Her knees buckled. Her breath caught. Her heartbeat stuttered.
And then she felt it.
A pull.
A shift.
A tearing-open sensation that wasn’t pain but displacement, like her soul was being lifted out of her body and set somewhere else.
Drusilla gasped, arching backward as if something invisible had hooked into her chest. Buffy felt her own consciousness stretch, twist, and then—
Snap.
The world reassembled.
But Buffy wasn’t looking out of her own eyes anymore.
She was looking out of Drusilla’s.
Her hands—Dru’s hands—were pale, elegant, tipped with crimson nails. Her hair fell in dark waves around her shoulders. Her dress was white, flowing, ghostlike.
Across from her, Buffy’s original body stood empty, slack, like a puppet with cut strings.
Drusilla—trapped in Buffy’s body—blinked in confusion, then horror.
“No… no, no, no,” Dru whimpered, touching her borrowed face. “This isn’t my dress. This isn’t my song.”
Buffy felt the new instincts rising inside her—predatory, ancient, but threaded with her own soul. She wasn’t turning evil. She wasn’t losing herself. She was simply… becoming something else.
Something that had Drusilla’s power but Buffy’s conscience.
“Dru,” Buffy said, startled by the velvet lilt of her new voice. “What did you do?”
“I wanted to be you,” Dru sobbed. “I wanted your strength, your sunlight. I wanted to stop hearing the stars scream.”
Buffy stepped closer. “You didn’t have to steal my body.”
“You didn’t have to take mine,” Dru whispered.
Buffy froze.
Because she hadn’t.
The spell had chosen.
And now it was irreversible.
Drusilla—inside Buffy’s body—reached out, trembling. “Please… give it back.”
Buffy felt the truth settle like a stone in her chest. “I can’t.”
Dru’s eyes widened with terror. “Then I don’t want to be here.”
She lunged—not at Buffy, but at the stake Buffy had dropped. She grabbed it with Buffy’s familiar hand and pressed it to her own heart.
Buffy reacted on instinct, vampiric speed blurring her movement. She caught Dru’s wrist.
“Don’t,” Buffy said sharply. “You don’t have to—”
But Dru twisted free. “I can’t live in the Slayer’s skin. It burns.”
Before Buffy could stop her, Drusilla—wearing Buffy’s body—drove the stake home.
There was no scream. No theatrics.
Just a soft burst of dust.
Buffy stood alone in the alley, holding the empty air where her own body had been.
She looked down at her pale hands. Her white dress. Her dark curls.
She was Drusilla now.
Not a copy.
Not a possession.
A replacement.
And the real Dru was gone.
Buffy swallowed hard, her new fangs pressing lightly against her lip. She felt the weight of what had happened—not just the death, but the identity she now carried.
“I’m still me,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud would anchor her.
But the night didn’t answer.
Only the wind, brushing through her hair like a cold hand.
