Her name brings hope of a new day but her eyes are older than time.
She knocks on his door, eyeliner too black and skirt too short, scent of sex and cheap booze.
She spreads her legs, asking him to fuck her, passing out from whatever she kills herself with before he protests.
And so he sits there, whiskey burning his throat, purging his scar.
Trust Angelus to leave only them, him so broken, the Key so lost.
He waits till she wakes up, hoping this will be the day he knows how to help her.
He waits till dawn.