Disclaimer: I'm sure by now you realize I own nothing…yet.

Chapter 7

Tara gazed in awe at the vastness, at the choice. She had never really grasped just how big the mall really was. There were stores for everything she could possibly need or want-and for each of these there were at least ten shops to choose from, and within them, at least twenty different brands. But for clothes? The most sought-after product? How could the poor witch ever decide? The blonde tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she examined the large plastic map. She was on the first floor-right near the food court, and was trying to identify between fifteen different kids' stores. They all looked appealing, so Tara settled for the most logical way to decide where to spend her money.

"Eenie-meanie-miney-moe, catch a tiger by the toe…" The college student finished the well-known verse, her finger landing on a little shop called "Primary Colors". She vaguely wondered if their selection only featured blues, reds, and yellows, finding the combination rather dull, but, after all, 'eenie-meanie' had chosen, and who was Tara to argue with fate? Shrugging her shoulders, the young woman waited by the elevators for a ride to floor 3. It soon came, and with it, a rush of parents pushing out numerous youngsters.

"No Bobby-don't pull Kayla's hair!"

"Mom-Dan stole my cell-phone!"

"Shut up!"

"I feel sick…"

"Wahhhh!"

Tara shivered involuntarily. Would that be her in a few years? Willow had seemed to be a pretty docile kid-a little mischievous, but definitely with good intentions. Was it possible that she could turn into…that? The witch eyed a little girl throwing a hissy fit at her father's feet.

"Are you coming in?" An elderly woman's voice pulled her back into reality.

"Oh! Y-yes, thanks. S-sorry." She stuttered, making her way into the crowded lift.

Meanwhile, back at the watcher's place, Giles was dealing with a small issue…

"Don't do that!" A little red-head wailed, hitting the man's shins with weak fists.

"Do what, exactly?" Rupert was losing his patience. Tara had only been gone for fifteen minutes, and already Willow was throwing a fit.

"You know esactly what you did!" The child raged, angered by his 'fake' ignorance.

"Now listen here, Willow-"

"You did it again!"

"Did what?"

"You know esactly what!"

The watcher looked down at the girl, who continued to bludgeon his legs, and

sighed, defeated. He really did not want to have the same conversation for the hundredth time that day. What could he possibly have done wrong? He was sure she never acted that way for 'Mommy'.

"Willow-"

"Don't do that!"

It hit him.

"Willow!"

"Don't do that!"

Giles smiled-he had found the provoking action.

"Wi-sweetheart, are you upset because I called you Willow?"

"You know I don't like that name! It's a twee! I don't wanna be called a twee!" Tears welled up in her green orbs, "People in my class make fun of me!"

The graying man had never really thought about that. It must have been difficult-growing up with a name like that. Most people named after plants are called 'Lily' or 'Violet', or some other pretty flower. But Willow? The tree whose leaves and branches fell like vines, giving the illusion of sorrowful weeping? The poor girl-no wonder she didn't like it! She must have not said anything to Tara because she didn't want to hurt her feelings-after all, in Willow's mind, it was she that had given her the name.

"Oh dear, I'm ever so sorry." The watcher lifted the rag-clothed child onto his lap, "Is there some other name you'd rather be called? Like…" Giles thought for a moment. Who was that red-headed fish-girl that children these days loved? Oh, yes!

"Ariel?" Rupert suggested, proud that he had remembered the cartoon's name.

"Like 'The Little Mewmaid?'" Willow questioned, "No. I don't want to be like hew. She was a pwincess."

The middle-aged man was confused. Didn't little girls like princesses? The child, however, set him straight by saying, "It's bad to be a pwincess. They'we too westwicted. With a lot of wules and stuff."

Giles was startled. Despite the obvious lisp, Willow was, even at a young age, still the intelligent person she was as an adult. She was definitely smarter than her fellow preschoolers, at least.

"That was a very good answer Willow." The watcher smiled. The girl glared at him.

"I mean, dear." He corrected himself before the child threw yet another tantrum.

"Not Deaw. Mommy is Deaw-Deawest. Tawa Deawest." Willow looked confused. Who called her mommy 'Tawa Deawest'? It wasn't her, and it wasn't Grandpa…maybe her aunt? No…it was Mommy. Mommy called Mommy that. But it was a different Mommy…

The child pondered this for a while. So long, in fact, that the watcher became worried.

"Sweetheart? Are you okay?" The red-head shook her head. She could ask Mommy about that later-she would know.

"Yeah. I'm okay." Giles smiled.

"Well then, shall we continue to think of a name for you?" He prompted.

"Yeah! A weally gweat one!"

"Hm…" Tara surveyed the many dress options before her, marveling at how anyone could possibly manage to come up with so many different styles for such tiny outfits. Willow was abnormally small for her age. She still had the remnants of baby fat all over her body, but even with the extra plumpness, she would still need clothes befitting a three-year-old. Maybe even a two-year-old, if the sizes ran large.

The witch took down a yellow outfit from one of 'Primary Colors'" many primary-colored shelves. If Tara recalled correctly, little Willow was a big fan of the light shade. Grabbing a few miniature-sized yellow shorts and tees, as well as some green and purple garments which Tara was sure would bring our Willow's beautiful eyes, the young woman decided she was ready to go.

"Wow. You definitely splurged." The cashier noted, eyeing the many piles of multicolored cloth before her.

"Yeah. I guess so." The young woman agreed, good-naturedly.

"Well," the "Primary Colors" employee informed, ringing up the many purchases, "That'll be eight-hundred-twenty dollars, and fifty-nine cents."

"E-excuse me?" Tara asked, bewildered. She had always shopped at discount stores, where everything was cheap and on sale. Being scorned by her father, the witch had learned to carefully manage the small allowance she was given for clothes and school items to make the most of it. But eight-hundred-twenty dollars? She had never in her life spent so much on something as trivial as clothes. However, this was Willow, and there was nothing she wouldn't do-or buy for her, especially in her vulnerable state. And who knew how long she would be stuck as a little kid? The poor child might actually need all of the stuff Tara had bought. Thus, with this new and generous outlook, the young woman dug into her pocket, pulled out some hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to the woman behind the register.

"Here you go," Tara smiled, gathering up her bags, "and keep the change."