"I am lost to time
lost to time
enclosed in my
fruit
with breath inside."
- Maria Teresa Horta
It was a cold night when he came back to town; a flash of platinum blonde hair and black clothing on a chrome and leather motorcycle. The September wind cut his face and his hands as he entered the graveyard, a well-worn bottle green backpack half slung around his back.
He was so surprised when she rushed by him that he wasn't sure that it was her a first. There had been no warning heartbeat or thrum of blood rushing through her veins. There had only been the faint trace of her sandalwood and lavender scent before she moved through the bushes in front of him, a glimmer of white and blue cloth.
He considered ignoring the apparition which might or might not have really been her and continuing on to his crypt, a path which diverged from the encasement of the bushes. But his feet moved him towards the brush and he found himself stumbling into the forest darkness, moving branches and leaves out of his way, surrounded by the earthy smell of dirt and bark, dew and mold. Life pulsed around him in the night, the moon peeping through the branches and shining down on select patches of vegetation before vanishing again and reappearing in a new spot.
He caught glimpses of her from the corner of his eyes, fleeting milky glimmers that he always just missed catching full sight of, that guided him skillfully through the woods to the other side of the graveyard.
When he finally reached the end of the trees she turned and smiled at him, long and sad and slow. Her skin was so pale in the moonlight, her long honey blonde hair loose, her soft eyes large and doe-like, before she slipped into the shadows of the trees where she became a silhouette. And then nothing.
He moved forward cautiously, concealing himself on the outskirts of the trees as he gazed at the scene revealed to him.
Red sat hunched on the ground, a pair of slightly wilted red and white roses in her hands. Her normally vibrant and perky red hair was stringy and thin around her head, it's luster tarnished though the barest traces remained. Her skin was sallow, her clothing loose, and she shivered from a non-existent wind.
Her green eyes stared aimlessly at the pale slab before her.
The moon peeked out from behind a cloud and then cast it's light down on her, turning her skin an ashen grey. In contrast, the pale slab seemed to absorb the light and shine brighter against the grass.
He don't know how long he stood in the trees watching as Red sat and quietly mourned, the flowers in her hands dropping towards the ground. The moon was more than high overhead when she finally dropped the roses on the slab and, back crouched, eyes red and puffy, disappeared the opposite way.
He waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded away completely on the night air before he moved forward. The back pack fell to his feet when he reached the stone slab and peered down at the pale marker. It took his mind a moment to register what he was seeing and when he did he couldn't help the cold that rushed through him, the loss of breath that he didn't really need anyway.
Here lies Tara McLay.
He heard the faint rustle of leaves and the light, barely there footstep the wouldn't leave an imprint in the wet grass. Then she was beside him, a soft light. She laughed low and deep, staring at the stone and the red and white roses that had been left there. She turned her eyes to him and for a moment he was trapped, staring into the orbs that had surely only been a soft hazel in life, and that now contained facets of every color he had ever seen.
She smiled and dropped their gaze, "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
He swallowed but didn't say anything. His hand reached out and touched the surface of her skin, cold, and his fingers glided along the pale arm as if it were made of milk.
"How?"
"Warren."
His fists clenched and a low growl rumbled in his chest, "Bloody bastard."
She just nodded, "Willow - she took care of him. Flayed him alive."
He doesn't say anything else. Just stares down at the tombstone, and sometimes at the girl that stands beside him. The girl that's not really there. The moon shifts away and everything falls back into shadow, the only light comes now from the stars above and the flicker of light from Spike's lighter as he lights a cigarette.
"I thought about quitting", he takes a long drag on the cigarette and sighs gratefully, should have known that once I returned to this place all my plans would be buggered.
Tara just nods and stares up at the night sky, "Everything's wrong."
"Yea, that it is."
She turns to him and smiles, before bending down and picking up the wilting red rose. She raises it to her face and smells it for a moment before she pulls a few petals off and smudges them together with her fingers, staining her hand red with their juices, "She hasn't seen me yet."
She let the petals fall from her hand onto the grass, "No one has. Just you."
"Touched, pet."
The stain of the petal's juices against her pale fingers is crimson blood color but she makes no move to wipe it off, she just stares at it, remembering.
"There wasn't a lot of blood, you know? I -- I always thought, that when you shot a person, that there'd be more blood. Blood everywhere. But there wasn't. Just the bit on my shirt and the floor and on her."
Spike lets the cigarette fall to the ground and he stubs it out viciously, "I don't know what to tell you, Glinda."
She shrugs and drops the rose, the petals dry and brittle when they hit the stone.
She looks up at the lightning sky and starts towards the woods. He watches her go, bottle green back pack a heap by his feet, the flowers on her tomb-stone drooping and faded. She turns back before she disappears into the darkness, a glimmer of light, "The soul -- you know it won't be enough?"
"I've had my suspicions."
"It's not what makes a man a man, Spike. Or a demon a demon."
She begins to fade and her faint scent washes over and around him. He doesn't reply, just bends down and retrieves his pack, shouldering it easily. He starts the other way, and then pauses and looks back towards the faint silhouette that marks her presence, "See you around, Glinda."
She just smiles and nods, watching as he disappears into the night.
lost to time
enclosed in my
fruit
with breath inside."
- Maria Teresa Horta
It was a cold night when he came back to town; a flash of platinum blonde hair and black clothing on a chrome and leather motorcycle. The September wind cut his face and his hands as he entered the graveyard, a well-worn bottle green backpack half slung around his back.
He was so surprised when she rushed by him that he wasn't sure that it was her a first. There had been no warning heartbeat or thrum of blood rushing through her veins. There had only been the faint trace of her sandalwood and lavender scent before she moved through the bushes in front of him, a glimmer of white and blue cloth.
He considered ignoring the apparition which might or might not have really been her and continuing on to his crypt, a path which diverged from the encasement of the bushes. But his feet moved him towards the brush and he found himself stumbling into the forest darkness, moving branches and leaves out of his way, surrounded by the earthy smell of dirt and bark, dew and mold. Life pulsed around him in the night, the moon peeping through the branches and shining down on select patches of vegetation before vanishing again and reappearing in a new spot.
He caught glimpses of her from the corner of his eyes, fleeting milky glimmers that he always just missed catching full sight of, that guided him skillfully through the woods to the other side of the graveyard.
When he finally reached the end of the trees she turned and smiled at him, long and sad and slow. Her skin was so pale in the moonlight, her long honey blonde hair loose, her soft eyes large and doe-like, before she slipped into the shadows of the trees where she became a silhouette. And then nothing.
He moved forward cautiously, concealing himself on the outskirts of the trees as he gazed at the scene revealed to him.
Red sat hunched on the ground, a pair of slightly wilted red and white roses in her hands. Her normally vibrant and perky red hair was stringy and thin around her head, it's luster tarnished though the barest traces remained. Her skin was sallow, her clothing loose, and she shivered from a non-existent wind.
Her green eyes stared aimlessly at the pale slab before her.
The moon peeked out from behind a cloud and then cast it's light down on her, turning her skin an ashen grey. In contrast, the pale slab seemed to absorb the light and shine brighter against the grass.
He don't know how long he stood in the trees watching as Red sat and quietly mourned, the flowers in her hands dropping towards the ground. The moon was more than high overhead when she finally dropped the roses on the slab and, back crouched, eyes red and puffy, disappeared the opposite way.
He waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded away completely on the night air before he moved forward. The back pack fell to his feet when he reached the stone slab and peered down at the pale marker. It took his mind a moment to register what he was seeing and when he did he couldn't help the cold that rushed through him, the loss of breath that he didn't really need anyway.
Here lies Tara McLay.
He heard the faint rustle of leaves and the light, barely there footstep the wouldn't leave an imprint in the wet grass. Then she was beside him, a soft light. She laughed low and deep, staring at the stone and the red and white roses that had been left there. She turned her eyes to him and for a moment he was trapped, staring into the orbs that had surely only been a soft hazel in life, and that now contained facets of every color he had ever seen.
She smiled and dropped their gaze, "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
He swallowed but didn't say anything. His hand reached out and touched the surface of her skin, cold, and his fingers glided along the pale arm as if it were made of milk.
"How?"
"Warren."
His fists clenched and a low growl rumbled in his chest, "Bloody bastard."
She just nodded, "Willow - she took care of him. Flayed him alive."
He doesn't say anything else. Just stares down at the tombstone, and sometimes at the girl that stands beside him. The girl that's not really there. The moon shifts away and everything falls back into shadow, the only light comes now from the stars above and the flicker of light from Spike's lighter as he lights a cigarette.
"I thought about quitting", he takes a long drag on the cigarette and sighs gratefully, should have known that once I returned to this place all my plans would be buggered.
Tara just nods and stares up at the night sky, "Everything's wrong."
"Yea, that it is."
She turns to him and smiles, before bending down and picking up the wilting red rose. She raises it to her face and smells it for a moment before she pulls a few petals off and smudges them together with her fingers, staining her hand red with their juices, "She hasn't seen me yet."
She let the petals fall from her hand onto the grass, "No one has. Just you."
"Touched, pet."
The stain of the petal's juices against her pale fingers is crimson blood color but she makes no move to wipe it off, she just stares at it, remembering.
"There wasn't a lot of blood, you know? I -- I always thought, that when you shot a person, that there'd be more blood. Blood everywhere. But there wasn't. Just the bit on my shirt and the floor and on her."
Spike lets the cigarette fall to the ground and he stubs it out viciously, "I don't know what to tell you, Glinda."
She shrugs and drops the rose, the petals dry and brittle when they hit the stone.
She looks up at the lightning sky and starts towards the woods. He watches her go, bottle green back pack a heap by his feet, the flowers on her tomb-stone drooping and faded. She turns back before she disappears into the darkness, a glimmer of light, "The soul -- you know it won't be enough?"
"I've had my suspicions."
"It's not what makes a man a man, Spike. Or a demon a demon."
She begins to fade and her faint scent washes over and around him. He doesn't reply, just bends down and retrieves his pack, shouldering it easily. He starts the other way, and then pauses and looks back towards the faint silhouette that marks her presence, "See you around, Glinda."
She just smiles and nods, watching as he disappears into the night.