Yeah... This is a fic about Willow's mother, during the time when everyone was leaving Sunnydale. Short and written quickly, like most of my stories, as it just popped into my head.


Remembering the Dead


Sheila Rosenburg walked through the cemetery, flowers in hand. She was leaving Sunnydale, like everyone else, and she wanted to pay her last respects to her late parents. She did so quickly, placing the flowers between their graves and saying a few words, and began walking back to where her husband was waiting in the car.

She wasn't sure why she was in such a hurry. They wouldn't get out of Sunnydale for another few hours anyway, since there were only a few people who weren't deserting the town. So she slowed down, and took the time to look at the graves. She was surprised she was the only one here. Surely she wasn't the only one with family members buried here? But most of the graves had wilted flowers, or ribbons damaged by the wind and rain.

She recognized a few names. Some were parents of friends she'd had as a child. Others, however, were friends Willow had as a child. She didn't know why they hadn't moved from this town sooner... Horrible things happened here.

She'd only thought about her daughter briefly while they were packing. She knew Willow was still around, but she hadn't talked with her in over a year. And she knew that Willow could take care of herself, and that she'd get out of she had to. And she only thought of her briefly in that moment, remembering her childhood, and the friends of hers that were put to rest here.

In the distance, however, she could see a grave that had not been neglected. In the dark, she could see the glowing light of a candle. She walked towards it. She was curious to see who was so well respected after death, and she felt guilty since she was also going there to put out the candle. It had been dry the past few days, and she didn't want anything to set fire.

But as she got closer, she realized there wasn't any candle at all. A jar sat there, flame contained safely inside. She knew it must be magic, as her daughter had taught her a few things about it.

Other than the flame, there were many bunches of flowers, none could have been more than a day old. There were tags attached to a few, and she read one. It simply said "Love, Dawn". She read another. "Xander ".

Xander? She quickly darted her eyes to the name on the grave. Tara Macla y.

She gasped. Grabbing for the bunch of roses near the flame, she read the tag. "Yours forever. All my love, Willow".

She couldn't believe it. She put the roses back in their proper place, and hurried back to the car.

Her husband was waiting, and noticed the look on her face. "What is it, Sheila?" he asked. "Where's Willow's picture? The one from the hall?" she demanded. "I didn't bring any of the pictures from the hall," he said. Her eyes widened, and she quickly got back into the car. "We're going back. I need that picture." Confused, but not one for asking questions, he drove his wife back to their old home.

She nearly ran through the front door, and made her way to the hallway, taking the picture away from it's place there, and headed back to the car. "Which picture did you need?" he asked. She looked at the picture, then looked away, wordlessly handing it to her husband.

"Why this one?" he asked quietly, and looked up to Sheila. She looked back at him, tears in her eyes. "That's our Willow. She's so happy there, see her? She's so happy! And... she's dead, Ira! She's dead! Our Willow can't be happy like that now." He looked to his wife in horror. "Willow's dead!?" he exclaimed. Sheila shook her head. "No, no. The other girl is." He sighed in relief, and looked down at the picture once more. There was his daughter and her girlfriend, looking back at him.