Red
Prologue

The sky unwinds like a typewriter ribbon. A desperate spiral of black falls away at the ends, tumbles on and on like an impossible number. A kaleidoscope of dimensions become gleaming insect eyes, diamond-fractured and -

"Wil, what did you do?"

The ribbon tightens, recedes. Molecules spin, confused, change their orbit mid-direction. My head feels hollow and huge; thoughts bounce around without words, flashes of colours that may of may not exist. Shiny ghosts of the two faces that had been in front of me a moment or an eternity ago, blonde women with concerned eyes that made me want to -

I've forgotten. I am too far away.

"Willow, answer me! What spell was that?"

Her voice rages through plastic, takes ten thousand years to pass into my head. When it comes, my mouth is dry.

"Tara, it's okay. Get her some water." Another voice. I know her and I know she's lying. And I want to care, but all I notice is my body is falling. Wind cuts at my edges and bright specks burst behind or in front of my eyes. Is the wind inside me too?

And suddenly I know: I can fix this. I can fix everything. I can split open my skin and the most real part of myself will emerge, free. I was trapped, but I know the way out, and it's so clear -

"Here it is."

"Wil!"

Through the strange, slow air, a sensation on the body that no longer feels like mine. Cold. Like heavy curtains, I force the eyelids to open.

Orange light falls from streetlamps.

"Willow." Tara's arms around me. She presses her head into my neck. Her hair is soft and her eyes are wet. "I was so worried -"

"We all were," Buffy cuts her off. "Wil, you didn't need to do that."

Repeating my name. That freaked-out tell.

"I had to -" a cough wracks my body - "help. You."

"I had it covered."

"You did not! You were surrounded by vamps!" The anger in my voice surprises me, not a sound I'm used to hearing. But I can't bring myself down - my skin is hot and my thoughts race, and most of all, I'm right.

"Exactly, Wil. Vamps. Nothing that warranted - this." She gestures around us, and I examine the area.

The ground is burnt, brown dirt scorched with black. Trees waver leafless in the wind, and a set of stumps protrude from the ground where a picnic table used to be.

And I know it shouldn't be, really know it shouldn't be, but the first thing I feel is pride. I did that.

Before magic, I'd never thought of myself as strong.

"Wil, you could have killed us."

"I saved you! You should be thanking me!"

"What kind of spell was that?" says Tara. She sits beside me, cross-legged in the dirt. Her expression is even, but her left shoe shakes up and down in the air. "I mean, it wasn't a standard spacial displacement."

"I modified it. Upped the oomph factor."

"So you adjusted the power regulation controls?"

"I kind of... took them off."

"Okay," says Buffy, "I don't need to speak Wicca to know that is major unsafe."

"Only if you don't concentrate." I sit up, which is a mistake. The ground swings back and forth, and nausea slams against the back of by head. Tara strokes my hair, and I fight the urge to shut my eyes - not a great way to make my point. "I was in control the whole time."

"Really? 'Cause it sure as hell didn't look like it." Buffy twirls her stake in her hand. Her movements still look ready to stab something.

"It's fine - Tara, you trust me, right?"

"I think... I think Buffy might have a point."

"What? Tara, you know how strong I am."

"That might be the problem. None of us were ready for that big a spell, and when you passed out... Willow, I was really worried."

My mouth is acidic with anger, but her eyes are wet, and the fire inside me goes out. "Hey, hey it's okay. I'm fine." I put my arms around her. We're exhausted and covered in dirt, but she feels like safety and my whole body relaxes. "We're fine."

"Promise you'll tell us if you do a spell like that again?"

"Promise." I brush her cheek and smile, looking into the green ocean of her eyes. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah." She nods. "Let's go home."

"See you at the house, Buffy," I say, taking Tara's arm as we walk back towards the sidewalk.

"Wil!" Buffy shouts from behind. I turn. "You're... you're okay, right?"

"Yeah," I say, making my voice bright. I smile again. "I'm good."

"Okay." She fiddles with the stake, then slips it back into her pocket. "Yeah, I'll see you there."

I squeeze Tara's hand. "Come on." And we continue walking. The sky is dull black, blotched with blue where the clouds open up. It's nothing compared to the glistening panorama I saw back there.

My chest tightens with the lie I've told. I don't think I'm okay. But I don't know if what I am is better or worse.

Author's note: Hi, thank you so much for reading my story! I was inspired to write this when I rewatched Once More, With Feeling and was struck by how much Buffy's description of being brought back to life resonated with my experiences of depersonalization. I've always had some issues with season six, as the "magic as addiction" metaphor seemed inconsistent with how magic was portrayed in previous seasons, but the way Buffy's state related to depression and dissociated caused me to think of altered mental states on the other end of the spectrum - that sort of hyper-aware, superconnected, invincible feeling. It made sense for me to associate this with magic, because A) when "up", I am able to get so much done that it sometimes does feel like a superpower, and B) although it is great to feel happy, even if it's abnormally happy considering the circumstances, when it progresses to recklessness it can become incredibly difficult to deal with. This seems to fit with how, when her powers are less strong, Willow's use of magic is helpful and empowering, but as they become stronger, they grow more destructive to her and those around her.

I hope you like my story, and I would be very grateful if you let me know what you think.