The slivers of sun that shown throw the badly painted windows told Angel two things.
1. The time of day, and 2. That feeling of remorse that he would be unable to attend the burial of
his love, Buffy Summers. She was feared by the damned and revered by the living. The thought of her death was hard enough for him to bear; but missing the last
chance to see her soft blonde hair was almost to much for Angel. Still, day came and went. The slivers of light rose and sank many times before Angel's cold eyes. He had become frail and weak, and the only thing that was left was not that loving, caring Angel that Buffy had left, but a ghost of that kind person. But this continued for weeks, and the only thing that Angel would do was feed on an poor creature that would have the misfortune of crossing his path.
Later, looking through the old things that Buffy had given him before the recent occurrences, he was able to find a small, stuffed pink pig that in some way reminded Angel of Buffy. In the way that it had the same sweet vanilla scent that had attracted him to Buffy on many occasions . This tiny keepsake went with him everywhere. It was the only thing that gave him the strength to leave that hell hole of a place. On the other side of town there was a small gathering at the cemetery where a grave had been opened and emptied.
As Angel stumbled through the dreary streets of Sunnydale, he started to notice a smell in the air of burning wood and cooking meat. The fist thing that came to Angel's mind was FOOD, but not just food, but meat, and lots of it. By the foulness of the smell, it had been dead for some time. The closer he got, the hungrier Angel became, but curiosity drove him the most. By the time he had reached the source of that Odor he had finally realized where he was...the Sunnydale cemetery. For that was the place that the few demons and vampires that Buffy had over looked had all came together to rejoice in the demise of "their" Satan, "their" worst fear. The shock of seeing his lover in the flames was to much for him to handle. Everything went white, and there were a few screams for mercy that were very quickly snuffed out with a crunch. Angel's eye came back into focus and it was clear what he had done. Too unspeakable to even be described.
By this time, Angel was weak and near exhaustion. So, with what little strength he had, he shuffled over to the charred remains that were and, in Angel's eyes, will always be Buffy Summers. He took what little of her hand was left in his right hand, and still holding on to the now dirty pink pig in his left, he waited for the dawning of a new day.