A/N: Hello there guys. This is my first story based on Buffy, I'm a beginner. I want to know how I did, so I could use a few reviews. (go ahead, you know you'll want to leave a message after you'll read this).

This is a little something about Katrina and Warren (or the other way around, doesn't matter) and I had this little idea in the back of my head for a while. Have you ever compared life to a candle before? I did, and this is the result.

Disclaimer: Why would I be here, on FF, if BtVS belonged to me? So, clearly, it's not mine.

The Candle

Stripped of life, alone
In the midst of something that I
Want to play with your evil inside
wanting, letting go, of what never could be again
Lost and alone
Imprisoned now inside your mind
With the way you tried
To destroy me again
You were waiting and living for no one
With the way you tried
To completely refuse all your life...

There isn't a thing that I can do
Watching the whole thing just wash away
Making me wrong
Making you strong

(Awaken - Disturbed)

She was alone.

Katrina knew that she was not home, wherever that was. And it wasn't night. Even though, there she stood, blanketed by nothing more than darkness and feeling peaceful, calm.

At first, she found it weird that her lungs weren't screaming for air, but she got used to it. After all, it felt like an eternity since she had woken up in that strange place.

Was she dead? It felt like it. Ironically, she imagined that's how death was. Lukewarm, fluid darkness and a candle. The last one kept her company, it even talked to her sometimes. And there was something slightly disturbing about it, but she hadn't got the chance to figure out what that was - maybe the voice. A voice not quite deep, but not pitched or childish, either. Often soft, urgent at times. Familiar. Yeah, mostly familiar.

There were times when its words brought flashes into her head. A naive expression of a man, sometimes looking confused and other times boiling with rage. Did she know him? She couldn't tell, but all that she knew was that the pair of eyes stared right at her, as if she was there, standing face to face with that handsome phantom. She found him handsome, yes, because she was sure that he was just a figment of her imagination. On the other hand, he could be just as real as her. Was she real? Being dead doesn't make you less real... right? But did ghosts have imagination? Moreover, did all ghosts talk to candles - or should she say - candles talk to ghosts...? But it really didn't matter.

It crossed her mind once or twice before that this might be a dream, and honestly, that was the only logical explanation of everything. But dreams don't hold this long, and she never was the one who dreamed weird things. She couldn't dream at all, she usually just went into a deep slumber that ended as soon as the sun was up on the sky.

With this thought in her head, Katrina got the sensation that it was more to it than she could comprehend at the moment. After waking up came another thing. Or, more correctly, the feeling of a warm body pressed tight against her back and a hand draped over her arm, holding her closely.

Was that it?

Was she in a relationship of some sort? Well, not at the moment, she scoffed. But back in the past, before she opened her eyes to this darkness.

Her heart stung. Not with love, not with regret, nor with sadness or pain. It just... stung. So she let the thought fly away from her reach, before she could analyze it carefully. Some things better stay like this, she whispered to herself.

And here her mind returned to the candle. A mystic object, no doubts about that.

She heard Warren talk about these kind of things, death, magic, all sort of stuff, but she put them into the Rubbish category, locked the door and threw the key, refusing to listen to her boyfriend's rambling. (besides his usual one, about integrated circuits, softwares and other things).

Katrina froze.

Her - what? Who? What or whom did she just think about right now?

Her head brutally whipped around, taken by surprise as the voice she knew too well broke the silence around her.

"Shut up, Trina. Just - shut up, okay?"

A memory. Thinking about waking up next to somebody - someone she clearly used to know - cycle of life and supernatural things did funny things to her. It brought her memories, voiced by a burning object.

Trina. The nickname moved in circles inside her head.

Trina. Trina. Trina. Trina.

Who pushed the repeat button, seriously now?

Her sarcasm was met by one word. Trina.

The wax slowly dripped onto her skin, molding quickly around the lines in her open palm like a second skin, one that numbed out her nerves and warmed the skin like hot jam. It was some kind of ivory shade, one that brought snow to her mind and at first it seemed cold. It felt cold, the sensation one receives when it burns too much against their epidermis.

Was she supposed to feel this? To feel anything at all, while she stood in this dimension? At least, that's what she thought it was - another dimension. A new world, stripped bare by the darkness that engulfed her. The only thing that kept her safe and chased away evil was the candle. The fire reflecting in her eyes, and the hope that it will not go away. The candle was the only thing that fought the clawed shadows that lunged for her.

"Cute. That's a cute trick."

She heard the voice loud and clear, but mostly she saw the flame tremble as if someone puffed air in its direction.

She knew the speaker, but her emotions were swirling in the pit of her stomach in a way that denied her the hatred and anger she longed for. The hatred and anger that once edged her words.

"Is that what you used on me? Oh my god! First the skankbot and now this? What is wrong with you!"

She remembers them all too clearly, but what was her reason to shout like that? It was like her line was cut from some kind of drama movie, but what made her so upset then?

Then… More exactly, when? Why couldn't she remember? Why was she so angry? And... skankbot... as in, in robot?

"It was an accident, you know."

"Oh. You mean, instead of killing my best friend, you killed my girlfriend."

Was it supposed to be like this forever, in the darkness with a candle tossing shadows around her, keeping her locked in some kind of prison where she couldn't even look away from it? It was strange, but she cared. She was responsible for that candle, one that survived through the years in some kind of way. A mystical way, most probably.

"Oh god! Stop it!"

How many years? How could a candle burn years without turning into nothing but wax across the darkness beneath?

"It's not going to make a neat little hole. First, it'll obliterate your internal organs. Your lung will collapse. Feels like drowning."

The screams of pain were terrifying, drenched in pain and fear and… something else she couldn't put her finger on.

Twenty-one years. The candle burnt a whole lifetime.

" Please! No."

The voice was now strained and horrified…

"When it finally hits your spine, it'll blow your central nervous system."

"Oh please, stop, god! Please-"

No more, no more! It felt strange, but she imagined the pain the man must go through, it hurt as if she'd got beaten with a crowbar to Hell and back, stepped on and shot, all concentrated in one single spot. One vital area. Her chest, right above her heart.

But she wasn't sure if she were in Hell, actually, was she?

"The pain will be unbearable, but you won't be able to move. Bullet usually travels faster than this, of course. But the dying? It'll seem like it takes forever."

And it really seemed to take forever, but she couldn't really feel anything, she knew she was just imagining. More importantly, she was aware of the fact that this pain – whatever was it caused by – was not hers. It was like some sort of connection, a transfer of… physical awareness.

Was Hell like that? It made you feel other man's pain? It made you think of it as your own?

"It ripped her insides out ... took her light away. From me. From the world."

Wh-who was the woman talking about? Was it someone she knew? Someone important?

Took her light away... Her candle must've been blown out, somebody must've breathed in its direction a little too... Wait, Katrina stopped from concentrating on the pain inside her flesh and clenched her jaw. Or imagined herself doing it.

The candle, it was life.

Something in the back of her head pushed forward whimpers of pain. It was like a little creature grabbing the sounds from one reality and throw it full force towards Katrina. The burning sensation of – was it regret? - took shelter in the pit of her stomach. And, strangely, it made her glad. Maybe that's because she knew who regretted his acts. The one she'd been thinking about, the voice, the one who's life was standing in front of her under the form of a flame.

Twenty-one years of burning. Of living. Of hurting.

This was just a waiting room, wasn't it? She was supposed to stay there and wait for him, wasn't she?

No! She was not standing there willingly, she was stuck, her feet glued to the ground, her eyes never living the shadows around her and the thing that made them dance wildly.

It was a vivid thought, but she knew that if it was her decision, she would have never waited there.

Some people thought that in death time doesn't exist, but for someone who was used to work with it, she felt like it had been a long, long time since she had gotten up surrounded by nothingness. How long, actually? How long had it been since Warren killed her? Took her light away from her?

And, once again, the realization hit her in the middle of her head like a flash, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. What had she just thought?

Her hearing became unclear, both of her ears tingling with new sensations. Was, was she drowning?

No. It couldn't be, because she knew that this, this pain and those thoughts and feelings were not hers. She just stood motionlessly inside the cage of darkness and stared at the candle. And yet – her eyes widened – everything came from the candle. She was living through it, if that was possible.

"Please! God! I did wrong, I see that now. I need, I need jail! I need ... But you, you don't want this. You're, you're not a bad person. Not like me."

Yes, admit that. Admit that you're deranged, Katrina whispered hatefully, that you cheated and lied to your friends.

Admit that… that you're… she trailed off, looking confused for a moment.

"Oh, and when you get caught, you'll lose them too. Your friends. You don't want that. I know you're in pain, but-"

Her hazel orbs looked orange in the yellow, now more feeble than ever, light.

Yes, that's right.

Admit that you're a murderer.

"Bored now."

Just like that, she saw Willow's casual flick of the wrist through tears of pain and then her vision became her own again. Orange became hazel, before being swallowed by black.

The candle was blown out and she was not alone anymore. Something (someone, her mind screamed) moved through the darkness.

Not alone.

Not safe, either.

Pulled back into the past.

Forced to deal with her own lover and killer.

"What is this place?" Warren whispered frantically.

So, what do you think?