Disclaimer: I know nothing. I own nothing. Not mine.
[A/N: The crossover will start next part. Properly. This is the prologue baby, yeh!]
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Anya didn't know what to do.
After the world almost ended that one final time, and she didn't know. She couldn't pick up any threads of any life as they'd all been destroyed. One by one, fade into darkness.
She wished...she wished she hadn't been as harsh on Andrew. That it was her, rather than him that took that fatal strike from the bringer. But it wasn't, and here she was with another human life, the stench of human blood on her hands.
It seemed that once you embraced your humanity, all you ever got was pain in return.
The worst part was, she couldn't block it out. Before, when she'd been human before, she was Anyanka. D'Hoffryn was absolutely right. She was still mechanical, systematic about things.
Now she was Anya, and that scared her. A human name, a human. Mortal in every sense of the word. Xander had held her in his arms, stroked her hair, and kissing her neck, thanking a worthless imaginary deity that she was alive and she'd just stared blankly ahead of her. He still loved her.
She had no room for love.
She was filled, saturated with self loathing, and there was no room for anything else. The happy, money-loving nymphomaniac-Anya-Christina- Emanuella-Jenkins had gone, and she had been hollowed out from the inside.
This was worse than the ugly death and destruction she had caused in her reign as a vengeance demon.
She'd hated to admit it. She'd called him names, put him down. In the end, Andrew was a friend. A short, talkative, annoying, dweeb of a friend. She'd give her life even to hear him argue about Timothy Dalton, or Xena, or anything.
So she decided to leave. Stay with someone whose grief could rival her own. Perhaps get lucky. Feel something again.
She was going to go to Colorado, to pay a certain Jack O'Neill a visit. A long...maybe permanent visit.
[A/N: The crossover will start next part. Properly. This is the prologue baby, yeh!]
------------
Anya didn't know what to do.
After the world almost ended that one final time, and she didn't know. She couldn't pick up any threads of any life as they'd all been destroyed. One by one, fade into darkness.
She wished...she wished she hadn't been as harsh on Andrew. That it was her, rather than him that took that fatal strike from the bringer. But it wasn't, and here she was with another human life, the stench of human blood on her hands.
It seemed that once you embraced your humanity, all you ever got was pain in return.
The worst part was, she couldn't block it out. Before, when she'd been human before, she was Anyanka. D'Hoffryn was absolutely right. She was still mechanical, systematic about things.
Now she was Anya, and that scared her. A human name, a human. Mortal in every sense of the word. Xander had held her in his arms, stroked her hair, and kissing her neck, thanking a worthless imaginary deity that she was alive and she'd just stared blankly ahead of her. He still loved her.
She had no room for love.
She was filled, saturated with self loathing, and there was no room for anything else. The happy, money-loving nymphomaniac-Anya-Christina- Emanuella-Jenkins had gone, and she had been hollowed out from the inside.
This was worse than the ugly death and destruction she had caused in her reign as a vengeance demon.
She'd hated to admit it. She'd called him names, put him down. In the end, Andrew was a friend. A short, talkative, annoying, dweeb of a friend. She'd give her life even to hear him argue about Timothy Dalton, or Xena, or anything.
So she decided to leave. Stay with someone whose grief could rival her own. Perhaps get lucky. Feel something again.
She was going to go to Colorado, to pay a certain Jack O'Neill a visit. A long...maybe permanent visit.
