People have tastes. Everyone, from the richest king to the poorest peasant, has a flavor, a distinct taste. I taste everyone that comes to me for power, and some's flavors are so strong I can taste them without touching them. Some angelic, beautiful girls taste like plump, juicy strawberries. And you feel like the red juice will drip down your chin, it's so strong. A couple of the good boys taste like rich, velvety chocolate, lacing through my veins. Most bad boys taste like rotten tomatoes, and a handful of the bad girls have a hint of spoiled milk in them.
Amy tastes like rat. No matter how good or bad she gets, she tastes like cedar chips and rat droppings. Warren tastes like thick wine, a little good and bad mixed in. He never intended on killing someone - until Buffy - but once it hit him, he couldn't stop being powerful. His friend, Andrew, was one of the strong ones I didn't have to touch. He tastes like banana cream pie. Like a dolphin caught in a net it can't get out of.
Oh, but the best I've ever tasted is that Summers girl. From hair to toe, she tastes like peach cobbler. I dream of touching her porcelain skin, running my fingers from temple to chin, tasting every bit of spiced peach that goes into her body. I just wish I could connect to that power, just with my finger. I long to whisper her name as she twirls in ecstasy of power. As she turns and turns, seeing nothing but golden-white light blaring at her face. I long to whisper it to her just once: Dawn.
I met a boy once that had the same effect. He was spawn of the devil, should taste like tar and salt, instead tasted of finest chocolate, milky and sugary. Everything in him was good. Down to his soul. The Slayer owned his heart, even if she didn't know it, and he was blessed. Every inch of him was chocolate, just to please her.
Strawberry came to me when Warren killed her girlfriend. She came to me, and she didn't taste like Strawberries anymore. Not like the ripe, red ones that are the perfect mixture of sweet and sour. She was wasted, all squishy tasting and with black spots all over her.
The junkies that came to me all tasted the same: chalky and bitter. They couldn't stop themselves, couldn't do a thing manually, so they kept ruining their lives for a run-in with me.
Everyone has a flavor. It's something that can't be changed, you can't go from peach cobbler to strawberry to tomatoes to wine. You're either good peach cobbler with the right amount of sugar and cinnamon, or you accidentally use salt instead of sugar.
Power is the cake. Flavor is the ingredients. Get it?