Disclaimer: You wanna hear a sob story? Ok, so I was sitting in English class one day and someone starts talking about goths. I think, "Goths. Black. Spikes. Dark. Vampires. Girl who slays vampires. Girl who slays vampires while trying to be normal." and it went on from there. What -I- can't understand is how that damned Joss Wheldon read my mind and created BtVS! I think he's in connection with some dark forces. How else could he come up with that only I can?

(Joss, Mutant Enemy, UPN--- please don't send out for me. I swear all allegiance to you. Just stay out of my mind.)

A/N: Takes place at the end of Hells Bells. I added a scene and then reiterated one. It'll progress in an AU from here on out except I'll be visiting some Season 5 stuff. So really, there's not much in the way of spoilers unless you haven't seen Season 5 in -which- case I refuse to talk to you. Go home, catch up on Buffy, and then come back to me.

A/N on Commentary: PLEASE review! I need to know how to improve. Suggestions ALWAYS welcome, especially with where you think I can take this story. And if you're here because I reviewed -your- story, just remember... I reviewed -your- story.









Prologue

Buffy surveyed the mess with a wary eye, leaning heavily on her mop.

"The guests sure did a number on this place," she commented, warranting a nod from Willow and a shrug from Dawn. After what had just taken place (or hadn't), no one seemed to be in a talkative mood.

"I can't believe Xander left!" Oh, except for that. Willow seemed resolved to say nearly nothing else. The groom's best "man" looked on the verge of tears for the umpteenth time that evening and Buffy shared the sentiment. Anya and Xander were supposed to be her light at the end of the tunnel, living proof that love conquers all, true happiness is within reach. Instead, their "happily ever after" quickly dissolved into "never after" with no "happily" in sight. Her light had proved to be a random bystander's flashlight and the tunnel... Well, the tunnel -had- no end.

Hours passed and eventually the hall was passable, at best. The girls called it a night and Dawn left with Willow, leaving Buffy alone for a quick patrol. Buffy made for the bathroom to change into more suitable attire and for several minutes afterwards stood holding her abomination-known-as-a-bridesmaids-dress at arms length, nose wrinkled in disdain. She briefly entertained the thought of throwing it out and then setting the trash can on fire, but instead decided to tuck it away in her bag, praying that the wedding might still go on at a later date.

Somehow, she doubted it.





She sat in a darkened room, her white dress an open mockery of the black pain she felt brewing inside herself. Salty tears fell laced with mascara and eyeliner, leaving dark circles under her eyes and streaks on her perfectly made up face.

D'Hoffryn, her only consoler (everyone else reminded her too much of Xander), handed her a tissue.

"Are you ok?" D'Hoffryn knew the answer, but also knew it was a typical question in these types of situations. Even if he was a bit bumpy on the outside, it never hurt to conform to the norm. Anya slowly shook her head, her glassy gaze fixed on the ground.

"I'm tired of crying. I'm so tired, D'Hoffryn," she whispered, her voice a feeble imitation of that which had so recently been vivacious and full of pep.

"Anyanka," he started, using her demon name as a reminder of her past, "I'm sorry, but you let him domesticate you." Time to pull out the big guns. "When you were a vengeance demon, you were powerful, at the top of your game. You crushed men like him.

"It's time you get back to what you do best, don't you think?" Her gaze slowly shifted until she looked him full on. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a part of her still reminded herself that she used to be powerful. She used to be -somebody-.

Anya---Anyanka---nodded her assent.

It was time to be powerful again.





TBC...