Disclaimer: The story's
mine - the characters aren't. Neither
is Sunnydale, LA, or...well, heaven for that matter. I'm time-sharing the Oracle's chamber, though - does that
count?? Don't sue me. Please.
Spoilers: All of it - the
whole kit and caboodle. Every single
one of the 100 eps are fair game here (If you haven't seen 'The Gift' yet you
may not want to read this)
Distribution: I'm thinking
yeah...as long as I know where it's going beforehand and my name is on it.
Summery: Spike gets tapped
by the Powers That Be to restore the way things should be. Problem is, Spike doesn't work and play well
with others. He is none too pleased
with the PTB's suggestions, either. S/B
eventually, otherwise what's the point?
Rated: R
Note: "Italicized
words" equal mind speech.
Dedications: Kelly, I
don't have the words to tell you what you mean to me. You are the reason, and I thank you. Helen, Trish, and Isabelle – you've all been staunchly
supportive, and you deserve a bucketful of gratitude for being patient with my
many neurosis. Thanks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Eternity
Lies In The Balance
Chapter 10
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spike followed after Buffy, watching her as she hopped up onto the
back porch and hurried into the house.
As miserable as he was feeling, he couldn't help but smile when he heard
her bellow up the stairs to her mom. There
she is, ladies and gents. There's the
little spitfire we all know and love.
Said it before, I'll say it again...she's hell on wheels, that one.
The vampire went into the kitchen and picked up his duster from
the chair, slipping it on in one smooth move.
He had no idea what would happen now.
The Oracles hadn't mentioned how Buffy was going to get out of
heaven, just that once she'd agreed to go, she'd be brought to them before
heading back to her body shortly after she'd died. They hadn't even told him how long it would take.
One thing was certain. He
intended to be right there beside her until she was ripped out of his
proverbial grasp.
Spike raised a hand to his lips, brushing his fingers gently
across the skin there, turning his mind from what was coming and basking in the
glow of her affection. She didn't hate
him. In fact, she'd let him know that
it was no longer completely inconceivable for her to love him...someday. That he wasn't going to be around to reach
that day was of little consequence, it didn't lessen the importance of the message.
And she had kissed him again, a sweet and gentle kiss. That brought the grand total up to two. To Spike's way of thinking, two was nowhere
near enough. Not to mention, as amazing
as it was feeling the softness and warmth of those lips, what he really ached
to do at least once was plunder that mouth until she couldn't see
straight. Drive the heat between them
to a fevered pitch, to a point where it was so blatantly obvious even she
could no longer deny that it exists. Turn
her into a panting mass of quivering sexual longing. Give her some idea of what he felt every time he was near
her.
He'd never dared try that before, as the dusting that would have
surely followed would tend to put a crimp in a vampire's plans for the rest of
his unlife.
Standing in the kitchen, it hit him that he didn't need to worry
about that anymore. For the first time
in a very long time, Spike grinned his notoriously cocky grin.
Come on, mate, what d'you got to lose? She could stake you, sure, but it would be better than sittin'
'round here, waitin' for the master of the house to kick your pale, soulless
ass out this bitch of a realm. And then
there's the other...she just might not stake you at all. Least you'd know for sure one way or the
other.
He headed down the hallway, a gleam in his eye and confidence
adding a swagger to his sauntering gait.
Buffy was standing next to the staircase, talking quietly to
Joyce. Spike hung back a bit, waiting
in the shadows as mother and daughter embraced tightly and kissed each other
good-bye.
She turned to him when she was finished, an innocently happy smile
on her face. "Let's go, Spike. Now's not the time to be dragging your
feet."
He stepped forward, the light from the living room uncovering his face
as he emerged from the darkness.
Suddenly Buffy had a hard time drawing a comfortable breath.
Oh God, she thought. Look at
him. How does he do that?
Buffy had always known that Spike had an innate sexuality that
oozed from every pore of his undead body.
She had resented it long enough, she should know. But there were also times, like this one,
when he seemed to be able to consciously grab a hold of that part of him and
shove it forward for all to tremble at.
When the innate sexuality was pushed up several notches and he turned
into a pure, walking, talking, testosterone time bomb. She wondered briefly if this was a trait of
all vampires or if it was uniquely Spike.
Buffy was betting on the latter and she shivered a little under the
intensity of his gaze.
It was odd how she'd never really noticed before just how
attractive he was. LIAR! You have too noticed, you fool. Why else would he be able to disturb you on
such an elemental level ever since you first crossed paths with him? You've noticed, you just chose to ignore the
knowing because of what he is.
Her thoughts scared her.
There was truth in them. There
was also truth in the fact that he was a vampire. Still a vampire, if maybe no longer a monster. It was something she couldn't avoid,
especially seeing him as badly hurt as he was now. No human could have taken the beating she gave him and still be
standing, stalking toward her with that predatory sexual intent blazing out
from him and sending her nerve endings into overdrive.
Spike saw her fear and sighed mentally even as he continued his
prowl to her side. She's afraid of
you, mate. But what did you
expect? All o' her sweet little words
'bout you not being a monster...you're still a vampire, though. And she's still the Slayer, no matter what
changes this place has brought 'round.
She may treat you like a man, you stupid git, but it's the fang she sees
first. Always that.
And maybe because he knew that he was a vampire, not a man, he
didn't let the fear in her eyes stop him.
He wasn't that noble.
Halting his steps a hand span from her petite frame, he looked
down into her large, questioning gaze and smiled pure heat. Damn the bloody consequences, this was his
Slayer, his Buffy, and he was going to have her mouth before he was destroyed.
Spike brought his hands up to cradle her face, impressed that she
didn't flinch at his touch despite the fear in her eyes. She deserves so much more than you, you
bloody fool.
Speaking slowly, completely absorbed in her gaze to the exclusion
of his surroundings, beyond caring that her mother was standing behind her,
watching him, he opened his heart to her one last time and told her what was in
it.
"I love you, Buffy.
I. Love. You."
His head swooped down to capture her lips before he could see the
reaction to his words in her eyes. He
didn't want to know.
For a split second her mouth was unresponsive to his pressure but
he felt the smallest of tremors go through her and felt her hands settle at his
waist. Not long after that her mouth
opened under his and he was lost.
His left hand moved on its own volition to the back of her head,
fisting around a handful of her silky hair.
His right traced its way down her back and crushed her body to his,
fitting her soft curves to his lean frame in a way that was meant to be. Two interlocking puzzle pieces, it was as if
they were made to fit together perfectly despite the wrongness of their
opposing natures.
She burned him, scorched him with her heat. It was a blissful feeling and he reveled in
it. Fire...blazing fire, spread through
him, engulfing him as their tongues danced together - fought, parried, and
retreated only to be hunted down to fight some more. It was heaven in hell, it was an oasis in the Sahara, it was food
for the starved, drink for the parched, music for the deaf, color for the
blind. It was a conflagration and it
was beautiful.
And Buffy gave as good as she got.
The soft shiver of fear hadn't withstood his gravelly voice when
he told her he loved her. She wanted
him to see it, but he had descended from above too quickly and it startled
her. Then she felt his cool lips and
his desire for her, and all thoughts of explanations had fled on eagle's wings. Never had surrender felt so right, been so
sweet. Reaped so many rewards.
He possessed her without asking, without caring if she was ready
to be possessed. She would let that
bother her later. For now, all that
mattered was that glorious tongue of his and what it was doing to hers.
Her hands squeezed into his sides and she knew, without needing to
ask, that he was as aroused as he'd ever been.
And it was wonderful, not needing to hold back on her strength. She couldn't hurt him; she didn't need to
worry about that. She could be herself
- all of herself - and not worry that it would be too much for him to take.
This was Spike. He'd seen
her at her worst, at her most vicious, at her lowest as well. He had felt her strength and not only
survived, but came back for more time and time again. It was a heady release. It
was freedom. It was an inferno of lust
and she gave into it.
She felt his arm go around her, pressing her so close to him that
she knew he could feel her heartbeat - not that he was paying any attention to
it. She wanted to be that close, in
that instant she wanted to be closer.
His arousal was pressing into her, blanketed by his clothes and
separated by hers, and in that split second she yearned to strip away those
offending layers and feel his cool body against her warmth.
It was honesty and it was raw and it was something she couldn't
hide from or evade. Not while his
tongue was in her mouth, while his hand was wrapped in her hair, while his arm
was gripping her so hard she almost couldn't breathe.
Spike growled low in his throat.
He was lost. Reality had been
stripped away and he was left trembling on a precipice of pure emotion. He had thought to teach her a lesson? What a fool he was. She had taught him, instead.
Buffy had responded to his desire in ways he had been completely
unprepared for and it humbled him. And
it brought the realization that it wasn't just the desire he wanted from her,
it was everything.
His mouth gentled its assault.
Instead of plundering, it became seeking, questing. Passion was tempered by tenderness, lust by
love. What was a war of mouths, he now
wanted to be a playground.
He drew back slightly, rested his forehead briefly against hers
before moving in again to sip from her lips.
He traced his cool tongue over her swollen mouth, teased a response from
her. She didn't disappoint. He thought he could feel her soft smile
before she repeated his actions to him, he knew he felt her hot tongue lap at
his bottom lip before she sucked it into her mouth and caressed it wetly.
Too soon it was over, and Spike raised his head to stare into her
eyes. They shared shocked and moved
expressions. She was practically
wrapped around him, and Buffy felt a twinge of embarrassment at her wanton behavior. It wasn't like her at all. And yet, on some level, it was. She smiled even as she untangled herself
from him, a shy smile that he saw and appreciated.
Right. Okay then. Ruling is you get to be not staked through
the heart. And now there's nothing hell
can do to you that can strip the memory of that kiss away from you, mate. You are one lucky, if buggered, bastard.
Spike stepped back, his swirling emotions causing unnecessary
panting, and tried to look busy straightening his clothes while in reality he
was studying Buffy for her response.
Buffy didn't know what to say.
The kiss had been amazing but it complicated things. When they got back she would need to deal
with whatever was going on between them.
She'd handle it much better than she did last time, though. He deserved more than, "The only chance you
had with me was when I was unconscious."
Especially because she didn't believe that was quite the case any
longer.
The problem was he loved her.
Loved her so much, in fact, that when he was asked to suffer heaven, he
did. Just to get her back. Sure, he hadn't been real forthcoming with
his reasons for agreeing to do it, but Buffy knew. There was only one thing it could be, after all. The Oracles might have had a higher purpose
with all that world saving, but that wasn't exactly Spike's gig.
She could no longer deny she felt something for him, but
love...well, that was a whole different, continent-sized, scary level
altogether. Remember your
history. Love and Buffy. Big un-mixy things.
Accepting love, not rejecting it, was all well and good. Participating in the sadistic spectator
sport was another thing entirely. And
something about that kiss told Buffy that Spike wouldn't settle for less
anymore. Okay, time to be denial
girl for just a little longer. Let's
get home first, then we'll deal with the radically sexy vampire.
"So," Buffy finally said in a shaky voice, "I'm guessing now would
be a good time to go home." She turned
to give her mom one more good-bye, only to notice that Joyce wasn't there. She must have decided it was better to give
the two some privacy during that soul-searing lip smack.
"Mom!" she called. "We're
getting ready to go!"
Joyce stepped out of the family room, a magazine in her hand and a
knowing smile on her mouth. "I didn't
want to intrude, so I thought I'd hang out in there until you two were...done."
Spike felt a trickle down his spine at the wording Joyce
used. It reinforced his belief that she
knew more than what she was telling.
The two Summers women gave each other one more hug, Joyce
whispering supportive words and instructions to her daughter about Dawn and
what she should do when she got back.
The vampire could hear, but tried to ignore the private conversation out
of a respect for Joyce.
"Okay, Bleach Boy, time to get home and redefine resurrection." Buffy's teasing voice pulled him out of his
musings about what Joyce did and didn't know.
She reached over and pulled the front door open.
Suddenly, Spike realized that his time with her was truly
over. He didn't know how he knew; he
just did. He knew that as soon as Buffy
stepped out of the house she'd be gone.
He tried to call out to her, got a hand part way up to hail her, just to
have two more minutes with her. Before he
got a word past his lips Buffy stepped over the threshold into the lightening
day outside.
And disappeared.
********************
Tara was terrified. She'd
seen the merge of Willow's aura with Spike's and tried to stop it, tried to
pull her back. It should have
worked. The connection should have been
severed quickly and cleanly.
There was too much magickal power, raw and unrefined, coursing
through the link between Willow's physical body and her mental one out in the
nether realm. It couldn't be
budged. And what's worse, Tara could
sense the agony that Willow was in and there was nothing Tara could do about
it.
She wasn't strong enough.
Tara's mental eyes watched in stunned disbelief as things grew
worse. There was a flash of light, and
suddenly a pulsing mass of energy was quickly approaching through the dark
dimension. Oh Goddess. That was Willow's essence, her last link to
her own reality. There is nothing Tara
knew of that could pull and essence from a witch and drag it into the nether realm. She had read stories about some witches, and
how they had initiated such a break out of a desire to escape persecution in
their lives. It wasn't suicide, but it
was close. They would continue to exist
in energy form in the gaps between dimensions, no longer conscious or aware of
what they used to be.
At first Tara feared that Willow's agony was so great that she had
made the conscious choice to join those poor sisters of light as an
escape. She should have known
better. The last feeling Tara got from
Willow was complete surprise at seeing her essence join with the mixed auras. She hadn't initiated it. It had just happened. But what could possibly have caused it?
She didn't have time to ponder.
As soon as Willow's essence had incorporated with the auras, Tara felt
the backlash of power snap down the length of her connecting link, severing it,
cutting her loose from all that was left of Willow.
Tara's mind screamed out at the pain of it before everything went
black.
********************
Xander and Anya had been in the family room, relaxing, watching
television, waiting for Willow and Tara to complete their spell when the
shrieking howl of wind and Giles' harsh curse could be heard coming from the
living room.
Xander looked at Anya.
"I'd be surprised...if this was an alternate reality."
She smiled wryly at him before leaping up and following him out
the door.
Giles was holding Dawn back from charging into the room when
Xander showed up at his side.
"What's going on?" Xander had to yell to be heard over the
increasing sound of the wind. When he
saw the mini tornado, and made out Willow in its epicenter, his jaw dropped in
stunned amazement. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know."
"Wow," said Anya, impressed more than worried. "That's a powerful spell. Is that an expected result?"
The two men shot her exasperated expressions, not bothering to
respond. Giles handed Dawn off to Anya
and stepped into the growing destruction of the room. He had to brace himself against the wind.
Giles wanted to get to Tara.
She needed to break away from the spell so they could get some
answers. He made his way carefully
around the room, ducking flying debris and coming dangerously close to being
conked over the head with some framed artwork that was lifted off the wall and
sent his way.
The room seemed to react to his intrusion, focusing its swirling
energy on lifting up anything and everything and sending it hurtling in his
direction. He made it to Tara, barely,
and was just about to grab her and yank her out of her induced trance when a
bolt of electrical energy descended down from the ceiling and slammed into
her. She was picked up bodily and
thrown hard into Giles.
Xander, Anya, and Dawn watched in horror as the weight of the
collision pushed Giles back into the fireplace. They could hear his head hit the stone with a sickly thud even
over the roar of the wind. He fell to
the ground with Tara sprawled across him.
Neither one moved.
"Okay, I guess that means I'm going in," said Xander, trying to
sound confident but looking as scared and confused as he felt.
"Xander, no." Dawn reached out and grabbed his arm before he
headed in. "You saw what happened when
Giles went in there, he was attacked purposely. Whatever that is swirling around Willow it doesn't want us in
there. If we go through the dining
room, we'll have a shorter distance to get to them and we might have a better
chance of getting them out before we get smooshed."
Xander studied her for a minute like he'd never seen her
before. He couldn't argue with her
logic...not all of it anyway. "Good
plan, Dawn, except for the 'we' part that includes you. Anya and I will be the we's that go in, you
stay here and warn us if anything looks like it wants to start a personal
relationship with our insides, okay?"
Frustrated at being dismissed for being too young to help yet
again, Dawn pursed her lips but nodded.
Giles was in there, hurt or possibly worse (Dawn didn't want to think of
the worse part) and someone needed to get to him soon. There wasn't time to argue.
Xander and Anya took off down the hallway to reach the dining room
through the kitchen. As soon as they
rounded the corner, Dawn turned back to the room. Gnawing on her bottom lip and going with pure gut instinct, she
stepped in and headed quickly over to Giles.
She was by his side before the couple had a chance to make it to
the other entryway. Feeling quickly for
a pulse and being vastly relieved when she felt one, Dawn started in surprise
when a very angry and worried Xander called out to her.
"Dawn! Get out of there!"
Dawn looked up and saw he was ready to come charging in after
her. "No, Xander. Stay back!
Look!" Dawn nodded her head to
the room; the energy seemed to have taken no notice of the girl. Or it was purposely, mysteriously leaving
her alone. "It's fine. It doesn't want to hurt me, but I don't know
- "
She didn't get a chance to finish, Xander saw that Dawn wasn't
being targeted and figured it was safe for him to go in. Two steps later he realized his
mistake. The large picture window
behind the couch imploded with a blast of tinkling glass, and sharp shards were
tossed around the room like deadly clear projectiles. Several headed directly toward where the young man stood.
"Xander! NO!!" The call came from both Dawn and Anya, both
of them screaming out a warning when they realized what was going to happen.
Xander froze; he couldn't get himself to move. Next thing he knew he was tackled from
behind. He fell hard, Anya yelling at
him over the din in the room as he lay spread-eagle underneath her.
"That was not a good idea!" she practically screamed at him. "Last time I checked you were not impervious
to lacerations, you know!"
He didn't have time to defend his actions, the room had decided to
empty the bookcase against the wall and they were both suffering the torment of
thick, hardback books raining down on them.
"An, now's not the time," he managed to grunt out after taking a
hard hit on the head. "Let's get out of
here, then you can yell at me all you want."
"Fine, mister." She crawled off him, keeping low, and waited for
him to get to his hands and knees. "And
don't think I won't take you up on that as soon as we're no longer fleeing for
our lives!"
Xander rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the room.
As soon as they got out the room quieted again - though quiet may
be a bit of a misnomer. The energy in
the room was still ignoring Dawn, who had turned her attention back to trying
to get Giles to wake up. It took a
couple of tense minutes, but she finally saw a telltale flutter of his eyelids
when he started to come around. She
didn't want to upset the room again, and she had seen what it did to him
before, so she leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"Giles. Can you hear
me? I need you to wake up, Giles. Please wake up. We need you!"
She waited for a response but when he didn't seem ready to give
one she tried again. And again. Finally, on her fourth attempt he managed to
moan a little.
"That's it. Come on,
Giles. You need to get up. Lying there is doing no one any good, but I
guess I can understand, what with you being an old guy and all how you may not
recover as fast as the rest of us."
That got his attention and his eyes shot open, affronted at the
implication he was old. "I will have
you know, thank you very much, that I am not OLD!"
He turned his head, wincing at the pain from the wallop he took on
the back of his skull, and saw the amusement glittering in her eyes, masking
only slightly the very real worry she felt at him being hurt. He realized she was teasing him, goading him
into a response, and he managed a weak, self-depreciating smile. "Remind me, won't you, to give you the
lecture on respecting your elders when this is all through."
Dawn giggled, but rolled her eyes at him for effect. "Right, cuz that always worked so well on
Buffy." Then she got serious. "We need to get you and Tara out of here,
but we need to be careful. The energy
doesn't seem to be interested in me, but Xander and Anya can't come in and I'm
afraid if it notices you it'll go for you again."
There seemed to be several things wrong with that statement, but
Giles couldn't quite make his mind connect to what they were. In truth, he was still addled by the knock
on the head. It was somewhat
humiliating, relying on a soon-to-be fifteen year old to get him to safety, but
Giles was left with little choice.
"Could you do me a favor, Dawn, and help me move Tara off of my
chest. It's a bit hard to breathe."
They managed to get Tara shifted, and Dawn told Giles what she thought
they could do to get them all out safely.
"If you can pull Tara out, I'll stand guard, make sure nothing
comes at you while you go. Try to stay
low, though. Crawling is best."
It was Giles' turn to roll his eyes and he pursed his lips in the
bargain. "Stay low, she says. Right.
We'll just have to do that."
Dawn stood and turned her attention to the room, looking for any
signs that might indicate another attack.
She heard Giles moving behind her and finally caught Tara's prone body
moving out of her line of vision as Giles pulled her to safety. The energy in the room did respond, but
every time it tried to toss something Giles' way Dawn would step into the line
of fire (squeezing her eyes shut each time just in case she'd been wrong) and
the objects would drop harmlessly to the ground.
There was no longer any doubt in the matter, the energy was
consciously avoiding causing any injury to Dawn.
Giles had been watching as he moved on his knees, shuffling
backwards and pulling Tara along while he went. It didn't make any kind of rational sense. Why would the energy target everyone but
Dawn? No answer was forthcoming, but he
did manage to get Tara and himself to safety.
Dawn backed out of the room and shut the sliding wooden doors
behind her, closing out some of the noise.
When she turned around, there were three very confused adults staring at
her in trepidation and curiosity.
"What?"
********************
She was naught but a speck of gravel at the bottom of Niagara
Falls, tossed and flipped and rolled by the torrent of emotions so immense that
any attempt to separate them out, dissect them, would be as futile as turning
the waters of the falls back and making it flow upwards.
She was a pawn, an actor in his play, and the smallest shred of Willow's
individuality - the only shred left - wailed for the creature that could not do
it himself. She was carried along on
the eddy of his aura trail, her senses - his senses - screaming out shrieks of
diamond hard facts. It was almost like
watching a movie while feeling everything the actors feel - if the movie was
about nothing more than pain, death, and agony.
Loss, she'd been able to pick up on the loss. Probably because it permeated every other
emotion and was by far the strongest.
Heartbreaking, heart wrenching loss.
The loss of a love, the loss of a life, the loss of responsibilities,
the loss of self. Every imaginable type
of loss was crippling him - her - along the way. And it was so dark, what was left of Willow's mind couldn't
understand why it was so dark.
And then it wasn't, and the hatred and rage - a vicious, feral
rage - sliced into her. She wanted to
kill, to tear apart flesh with her fangs.
And the red demon in front of her...no, wait...blue demon in front of
her was the target of all of that rage.
And still there was loss, choking and suffocating loss. It fueled the fury, volcanic in its
ferocity.
But the trail continued.
Confusion, snippets of human looking creatures with really bad skin -
no, painted? - And what was that...hope?
Stripped away before it could take hold. Clarity - there was a moment of clarity - she felt that. Bitter despair swallowed that and
hopelessness soon followed. She wished
she could hear...wished she could really see more than snippets through the
haze his emotions cast. It was all so
blurry.
Oh God. No! Anguish, gaping, bleeding anguish and again
rage. Something they said - those
colored creatures - sent a dagger of pure horror and disgust through her heart
and she wanted to shove their words, whatever they had been, back down their
throats. And rip out their lungs while
she did it so they could never do it again.
Still the loss was there, and it haunted her - a lonely wolf's
howl on a moonlit night, a banshee wail across the Scottish moor, the baying of
hellhounds out for blood.
Boredom for a brief second, confusion too, disbelief, crazed
hysteria tinged with resignation and sorrow so remarkably poignant it would
make the gods weep. But no tears were
shed, he had at some point accepted his loss - only to have that acceptance
torn from him - her - and swallowed whole by a gapping maw of reality. She saw what it was, it was the only clear
picture she'd seen so far, and it was hellish.
She didn't understand but felt that he did, fury fell away to misery
borne out of a new type of responsibility.
Willow didn't understand, she just felt, she was nothing but his
feelings. Terror - oh, God the terror -
and vile contempt for these creatures of destruction and desolation.
She sunk deeper into the pit, lost a little more self as the
journey continued. Rage, hatred, anger,
fear, loss, disillusionment, sorrow, anguish, torment, responsibility. Gasping, grasping for any escape from the
swell.
And then she arrived.
Where it should have begun. A lifted
veil, a hidey-hole of cursed treasure, a maze and a Minataur. The realm.
Seen through his eyes and felt through his feelings it was finally
clear. Those creatures were punishing
him, had to be. Why he was so accepting
of it was only for his mind to know, his emotions shed little light on
reason. A barren wasteland of toxic
spewage, noxious nastiness, and craggy, unforgiving landscape. Knowing fear and torture lay beyond and
willing to step in.
Willow's mind, what was left of it, saw what Spike had seen just
before the walls closed and the trail ended and was horrified in her own right.
It was more than hellish.
It was hell.
TBC
