It happened quickly.
Just a loud pop, then a sudden, overwhelming burst of pain, in her and through her. There was a vague sense of falling, of the carpeted floor rising to meet her.
And nothing more.
The clichés then. A bright light, a feeling of peace. No pain, none at all. Just her, and the light, and the light was good. Her life, all of it, the good and the bad, there before her. Every moment, every second of it.
Too little, she thought. Too young.
But there were no regrets.
The light. It drew at her and she went.
Time was not the same, she realized. Had it been moments, hours, years? This was a new place and she was here; there was a her that was her, a complete her. And she knew it and it too was good.
Another. There. Close now.
A young woman. She was almost familiar. There was a face to her and a sense to her that Tara knew. She came close; they were nearly touching now. She spoke, this young woman did.
"I'm told that I must watch this."
Tara regarded her. Then she followed the young woman's gaze down.
Down.
Herself, there, on the carpeted floor. A round stain of blood on her chest, just there. And there too, her arms around her, Willow.
Crying. Crying out.
There was a tremor here, in this place, at the force of it.
Bring her back.
By all that I command, bring her back.
And the other voice, answering.
No.
The scream then, the cry. And Willow standing, letting the lifeless body slip to the carpet, the blood soaking into it. The scream, the agony.
And Tara felt herself reach out, felt herself try to touch her friend, her lover.
Don't hurt, my love. Don't.
But Willow had risen. She had stood. As Tara and the young woman beside her watched she walked out the door, walked past Xander, walked to the magic shop.
And Tara understood, then, and she was afraid. For she had seen Willow's eyes.
"No ...." she breathed.
The young woman beside her spoke.
"Too late."
The words from the books were crawling like bugs up Willow's arms. Red hair became black. Eyes became black, narrow.
They watched him too. Warren. They watched him brag and they watched him flee. They watched his fear, his growing terror. They watched him and they watched his robot.
A hospital. Buffy there, so close to them now. Tara could feel her as though she was a bubble, rising to the surface of a pond. Coming close, so close. And then Willow there, and again the tremor and the bullet rising, up and out, the wound healing, gone.
Tara turned, regarded the young woman. She was watching Warren again.
"Who?" she asked.
"Katrina."
The name rang true. Below, Buffy and Xander and Willow were in a car, in the desert. There was a bus, filled with people, and Tara was afraid.
"Why?" she asked.
"No reason," Katrina said. "There never really is."
A robot, on the bus. And Willow gone.
But they knew where she was.
Where he was.
Running.
The chase. Things he tried. Toys and magics that were no match for her. And then he, restrained, held by her power.
Words.
They listened.
Tara shivered.
"No. Please, Sweetie, no ...."
Screams, in the woods.
"No. Please don't. Please don't do this."
Katrina regarded her, then regarded herself, coming out of the woods, asking why.
His words. Bitch!
And Willow, looking at him with her black eyes.
You took her from me. You tried to kill my friend and you killed my girlfriend.
"No .... Please .... No ...."
And then, in the wind, his skin gone. His cry of pain and shock and horror.
"Oh God," whispered Katrina.
In those seconds it was an eternity.
Flame, agony in the flame. Horror as Willow turned to Buffy, to Xander.
To her friends.
Two to go.
Tara stared. There was, frozen there, that last moment. The skinless, quivering body and the look of satisfaction on Willow's face.
"No .... No ....."
Katrina spoke.
"He has passed. He is where he should be."
Tara looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I've been here a while. You learn to know these things. You learn to sense them. He is where he should be."
"Where?"
"Where he will be what he is, with all his hate and fear and anger, forever. This is forever, here."
Tara looked back at Willow. Her face was alien, but it was still her. A her long denied, long hidden, but it was her.
Black eyes seething as they watched.
Muscle exposed. Wet and red and burning with agony. An impossible, unnatural agony. And around it there was more, was rage and hate and a terrible joy at the pain.
Tara shivered.
Katrina turned, began to move away.
"I have to go," she said.
"Where?"
She shrugged.
"I don't quite know. I suppose it's heaven. It's good there. I am loved, and I love."
Tara felt a sudden fear that she would be alone.
"And me? I've never been here before. Where do I go?"
Katrina watched her for a moment. Then she spoke slowly.
"Hell."
Sudden fear became sudden terror.
"Why?"
Katrina had stopped, her gaze still on her.
"Don't be afraid," she said. "There is no punishment meted out here. There is only you and what you are. That is eternal."
"Why hell?" Tara asked. "Why?"
Katrina turned and regarded Willow's dark eyes, her pale face, her black hair. And when Katrina spoke it was slow.
"Because you love her."
"Hell is for those who love?"
Katrina nodded.
"Yes. Sometimes, yes."
"No!" Tara screamed.
Infinity echoed the word back at her.
There was sadness in Katrina's face. "Don't you see, Tara?" she asked. "You will always love her, forever. But she cannot be redeemed. What she has done cannot be undone. She does not love you; you know this. Her love has been consumed by the selfish lust for vengeance. It is more important to her that she torture Warren to death, that she murder the other two, than it is that she love you. Did you see how fast she abandoned you? Did you see her joy at his suffering? She has become him, through her vengeance."
Tara felt her voice soften.
"No ...."
Katrina's eyes were heavy now with grief.
"Yes. You love one who abandoned her love for you. You love one who cannot be restored, because of her love of vengeance in your name. And your love of her is part of you; you cannot let it go. In her time, she will go where he is; she will be what he is, her hate, her fear. Her lust for revenge is no less than his. Forever. And for that forever you will love her, and you will suffer your love. She has damned you."
Tara cried out. Because the pain was there, in her, deep inside now. It was from within her and it was her.
She loved Willow.
Forever.
Katrina regarded her and her pain.
"Such," she said, quietly nursing her own, "is the nature of vengeance."
THE END
Just a loud pop, then a sudden, overwhelming burst of pain, in her and through her. There was a vague sense of falling, of the carpeted floor rising to meet her.
And nothing more.
The clichés then. A bright light, a feeling of peace. No pain, none at all. Just her, and the light, and the light was good. Her life, all of it, the good and the bad, there before her. Every moment, every second of it.
Too little, she thought. Too young.
But there were no regrets.
The light. It drew at her and she went.
Time was not the same, she realized. Had it been moments, hours, years? This was a new place and she was here; there was a her that was her, a complete her. And she knew it and it too was good.
Another. There. Close now.
A young woman. She was almost familiar. There was a face to her and a sense to her that Tara knew. She came close; they were nearly touching now. She spoke, this young woman did.
"I'm told that I must watch this."
Tara regarded her. Then she followed the young woman's gaze down.
Down.
Herself, there, on the carpeted floor. A round stain of blood on her chest, just there. And there too, her arms around her, Willow.
Crying. Crying out.
There was a tremor here, in this place, at the force of it.
Bring her back.
By all that I command, bring her back.
And the other voice, answering.
No.
The scream then, the cry. And Willow standing, letting the lifeless body slip to the carpet, the blood soaking into it. The scream, the agony.
And Tara felt herself reach out, felt herself try to touch her friend, her lover.
Don't hurt, my love. Don't.
But Willow had risen. She had stood. As Tara and the young woman beside her watched she walked out the door, walked past Xander, walked to the magic shop.
And Tara understood, then, and she was afraid. For she had seen Willow's eyes.
"No ...." she breathed.
The young woman beside her spoke.
"Too late."
The words from the books were crawling like bugs up Willow's arms. Red hair became black. Eyes became black, narrow.
They watched him too. Warren. They watched him brag and they watched him flee. They watched his fear, his growing terror. They watched him and they watched his robot.
A hospital. Buffy there, so close to them now. Tara could feel her as though she was a bubble, rising to the surface of a pond. Coming close, so close. And then Willow there, and again the tremor and the bullet rising, up and out, the wound healing, gone.
Tara turned, regarded the young woman. She was watching Warren again.
"Who?" she asked.
"Katrina."
The name rang true. Below, Buffy and Xander and Willow were in a car, in the desert. There was a bus, filled with people, and Tara was afraid.
"Why?" she asked.
"No reason," Katrina said. "There never really is."
A robot, on the bus. And Willow gone.
But they knew where she was.
Where he was.
Running.
The chase. Things he tried. Toys and magics that were no match for her. And then he, restrained, held by her power.
Words.
They listened.
Tara shivered.
"No. Please, Sweetie, no ...."
Screams, in the woods.
"No. Please don't. Please don't do this."
Katrina regarded her, then regarded herself, coming out of the woods, asking why.
His words. Bitch!
And Willow, looking at him with her black eyes.
You took her from me. You tried to kill my friend and you killed my girlfriend.
"No .... Please .... No ...."
And then, in the wind, his skin gone. His cry of pain and shock and horror.
"Oh God," whispered Katrina.
In those seconds it was an eternity.
Flame, agony in the flame. Horror as Willow turned to Buffy, to Xander.
To her friends.
Two to go.
Tara stared. There was, frozen there, that last moment. The skinless, quivering body and the look of satisfaction on Willow's face.
"No .... No ....."
Katrina spoke.
"He has passed. He is where he should be."
Tara looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I've been here a while. You learn to know these things. You learn to sense them. He is where he should be."
"Where?"
"Where he will be what he is, with all his hate and fear and anger, forever. This is forever, here."
Tara looked back at Willow. Her face was alien, but it was still her. A her long denied, long hidden, but it was her.
Black eyes seething as they watched.
Muscle exposed. Wet and red and burning with agony. An impossible, unnatural agony. And around it there was more, was rage and hate and a terrible joy at the pain.
Tara shivered.
Katrina turned, began to move away.
"I have to go," she said.
"Where?"
She shrugged.
"I don't quite know. I suppose it's heaven. It's good there. I am loved, and I love."
Tara felt a sudden fear that she would be alone.
"And me? I've never been here before. Where do I go?"
Katrina watched her for a moment. Then she spoke slowly.
"Hell."
Sudden fear became sudden terror.
"Why?"
Katrina had stopped, her gaze still on her.
"Don't be afraid," she said. "There is no punishment meted out here. There is only you and what you are. That is eternal."
"Why hell?" Tara asked. "Why?"
Katrina turned and regarded Willow's dark eyes, her pale face, her black hair. And when Katrina spoke it was slow.
"Because you love her."
"Hell is for those who love?"
Katrina nodded.
"Yes. Sometimes, yes."
"No!" Tara screamed.
Infinity echoed the word back at her.
There was sadness in Katrina's face. "Don't you see, Tara?" she asked. "You will always love her, forever. But she cannot be redeemed. What she has done cannot be undone. She does not love you; you know this. Her love has been consumed by the selfish lust for vengeance. It is more important to her that she torture Warren to death, that she murder the other two, than it is that she love you. Did you see how fast she abandoned you? Did you see her joy at his suffering? She has become him, through her vengeance."
Tara felt her voice soften.
"No ...."
Katrina's eyes were heavy now with grief.
"Yes. You love one who abandoned her love for you. You love one who cannot be restored, because of her love of vengeance in your name. And your love of her is part of you; you cannot let it go. In her time, she will go where he is; she will be what he is, her hate, her fear. Her lust for revenge is no less than his. Forever. And for that forever you will love her, and you will suffer your love. She has damned you."
Tara cried out. Because the pain was there, in her, deep inside now. It was from within her and it was her.
She loved Willow.
Forever.
Katrina regarded her and her pain.
"Such," she said, quietly nursing her own, "is the nature of vengeance."
THE END