Burn

Disclaimer: Alas, they do not belong to me

Feedback: Jeez, I need it. . .However, flames will be used to fuel my pyromaniac tendencies

Dedication: To Miss Molly (WiccanWonderGirl16, go read her stuff, it's way better than mine) who got me back into writing fan fiction again, and who is a dear friend

"Don't play with fire, Tara honey, you're gonna get burned." I can hear my Mother's words echoing in my mind. It was a little while after my seventh birthday, and she had decided it was time for her daughter to learn candle magick. In a secluded pine grove, in the forest not too far from our house, she showed me the beauty and power of the flame. I wish I had listened to her words. From that day on, I was fascinated by fire.

My last memory of her was a cold Christmas Eve, before we went to bed we were allowed to open one present, a tradition she had started. Donnie of course, picked the biggest one he could find under the tree. He slinked back to the couch, obviously disappointed with his gift of encyclopedia's from Dad.

"Go on Tara, open yours now." She urged, smiling gently.

I picked up a small, flat package, wrapped in red tissue paper. I knew it was from her, the red tissue paper gave it away. Hands shaking a little bit, I carefully tore around the edges of the tape, wanting to keep the paper as intact as possible.

"Tara," My father said sharply. "Don't be rude, tell everyone what you got, and thank your mother."

I held up the think hardbound book, its red cover worn and soft, it gave of the slight sent of lavender, I later found out she had tucked some in the pages.

"A-Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis C-Carroll." I said softly, "Thanks Mommy."

"It was my favorite book when I was a little girl, and now you can read it and have adventures just like Alice." My mother said, her eyes twinkling with that inner spark she had.

"Elizabeth." My Father said, his eyes blazing with anger and his voice deadly calm. "Come up stairs, we need to have a talk."

"Don, please." She begged, the spark was now gone from her eyes, they were flooded with fear. "It's just a book, and its Christmas."

"Now." He said finally, grabbing her arm and pulling her up the stairs.

Donny and I knew what was coming next. The screaming, blood, things breaking, that's what happened when any of us did anything wrong. We deserved it, he said, we were wicked children, and Mommy was a sinful woman, needing to, as he said, have a little religion put into us.

"I told you Elizabeth!" He roared from upstairs. "I do not want that pagan filth in my house! Do you want your daughter to go to hell? I will not have the Devil under this roof!"

"It's just a book," she pleaded, trying to reason with him. "I didn't know, please don't be angry."

I heard a hard blow, and my mother's choked sob. I put my fingers in my ears, and squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to hear or see my mother's pain, but then something snapped me to attention. I heard a blood curdling scream, cut short, and a sickening crack. Everyone was silent. My mother laid in a heap at the foot of the stairs, her head contorted into a position from a horror movie, and her long red hair spread about her like a pool of blood. Her eyes, not quite green and not quite brown, were wide and filled with fear, and her mouth stayed open in a final, silent scream.

"Mommy!" I screamed, flying to her side. "Mommy, are you okay?" Her skin was still warm, and fading to a gray ash color. "Mommy. . ." I said quietly, knowing she was gone. Sobs wracked my small frame, as I clung to her, the one person who loved me in my life, my warmth, my flame.

Dad told the police she had fallen, but everyone knew it was a lie. The next twelve years of my life were a frozen hell. Yes, cold is the best way to describe it. Donny, always wanting to be on our father's good side, treated me the same way he did, like I was some sort of sub-human. I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of them. Everything a good, righteous woman should do, my father said, be meek, humble and fearful of the men who own her. I was quiet, I learned that biting my tongue was the was for survival. I was a good daughter, I never had any friends, I got good grades (not that it mattered, women shouldn't be in the workplace he often said) and obeyed my father. I grew up hardly knowing love and kindness. I only had a faint memory of it, almost like when you couldn't remember if something was a true memory, or simply a dream. I was frozen, the kind of chill you feel down through your bones and into your soul. Still, I never complained, or tried to run away. I nearly died of shock when he said I could go to college.

"It'll be good for you." He said seriously. "It will teach you about resisting sin and temptations. You've been a good girl Tara, and I want it to stay that way. I'm glad you're nothing like your mother, you'll go to heaven, you won't ever have to see her again." That was the only complement he ever gave me.

However, my small rebellion was my mother's magick. She had hidden her magick trunk in a small cave near the glade where once practiced calling upon the elements and channeling the goddess. I poured over every word, my need for the light magick provided was unquenchable.

Only, one day I was caught. I snuck out every chance I got to go into the forest, usually the only times I could go was right after school before Dad was back from work, and while Donny was out hanging out with his friends. One day though, he followed me, and saw what I was doing. I suppose I don't hate Donny for telling, we all craved the same thing from Dad, just the slightest sign of love or affection, and he thought that telling on me would be the way to Dad's heart.

Everything was burned. Her books, her herbs, her stones were cast into the river, and her family's book of Shadows, that had been passed down from mother to daughter for nearly one hundred and fifty years was fuel to the flames. Thank the goddess I was only a few weeks from leaving for college.

Still, when I left my rural Tennessee home, and went to bright sunny California, it wasn't any different. I was still alone, still cold. Everyone saw me as the weird girl with the stutter and the accent. I quickly lost the accent, but the stutter was something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Old habits die hard. When I saw the flyer for the Wicca Group, I nearly died with joy. There were more people like me! I could finally be accepted and loved for who I was. I could be lead into the light. I was only slightly disappointed by the Silver Ravenwolf drones, not knowing the true ways of Witchcraft for I saw her. She reminded me of my mother, she shared her red locks and pale skin, but she was different in her own beautiful way. Her bright green eyes sparkled when she talked, and her eyes crinkled up when she laughed. She was small and delicate, like a pixie, unlike my mother who was more curvaceous like myself. But she was filled with power, and light. She had that spark.

I was attracted to her the moment I saw her, but I was afraid. Afraid that she would never feel the same way that I did, afraid that I wasn't good enough for her, I wasn't thin enough, or attractive enough. I was afraid to get hurt again.

When she showed that she cared for me in return, I threw caution to the wind. It was elation when I was with her, the kind of high that no other substance or person could give. Sometimes it was the warm feeling of summer, playing outside with the wind in your hair and the sun kissing your face. Other times, it was cozy, like a warm crackling fire and a hot cup of cocoa on a snowy day. To love and be loved in return. It was a new concept to me, and I loved every minute of it. Willow was my spark, my warmth, she led me from darkness into light.

When she, and the rest of the Scooby Gang defended me against Dad, and Donny, I don't think I had ever been so happy before. I truly had a family now, people who cared for me and allowed me into their group. I'd always been Tara, the loner, the outsider, now I was an official member of the scoobies.

Everything was perfect, she was my other half. The yin to my yang, everything. I know everything about her, about her Vampire alter-ego, how her parents were distant too, even that Xander once stole one of her Barbie dolls.

Then, things began to change. Her light got a taste of darkness, and she wanted more. Power always corrupts, and so did she. She wasn't my Willow any more, my pixie, my light. She was something new, and different.

I have never felt so violated and revolted when I found out about the forget spell. I had become an object again, not Tara. I was simply something that Willow could use and shape to her own liking. This person who I loved more than anything, and who I thought loved me, had become the one person who I thought she had saved me from. Willow, became my father.

I couldn't stand it again. I couldn't stand the cold, and the hurt, and the feeling of helplessness. Ironically, she helped me grow from the shy Nineteen year old Tara McClay that she met, to the one who had the backbone not to take that from anyone anymore. However, my heart was broken, and I was pushed back into the feelings I had ever sense my mother was pushed down those stairs. The loneliness, the pain, the anger. The cold.

I should have known, I should have listened. I should have realized that I was going to be burned.