7. Seeds
Buffy Summers:
I got a letter from Willow today - a little box, more precisely. In that box was a brief note and a small glowing chain.
"Wearing this chain will give you the complete sensation of everything Dawn saw and heard. Use it as you see fit. I should be back soon, after a final round of psychiatric tests. Miss you. All my love, Buffy. Willow."
Oh, great. Dawn gets novels from Willow from a regular basis, and spends hours in the evening writing replies. I get barely a paragraph and a trinket that will show me everything I never want to think about again, much less see. Of course, that's a paragraph more than I've written my best friend.
Not that I haven't heard everything about the whole experience. Initially, I was so afraid Dawn would be permanently scarred, unable to tell me anything. And, Dawn was scared and hurt. But, to my eternal relief, she was strengthened, too. She has had no problems telling me everything. In great detail. All the time.
Willow - make that the two Willow pieces - God, this gets so confusing - was a greater threat to my sister than anyone has ever been, besides Glory. I still don't know what I'd do if Willow had maimed or killed my sister. But in the end, Willow gave my sister what she secretly wanted. Dawn now knows she's real, and she's a hero, too - just like Big Sis. The new hero is much less bratty and whiny, although if Dawn doesn't stop bragging about how she saved Giles and Good Willow, I'm going to stake her. I mean that in a loving way, of course.
I come back to the note. God, she could at least say she's sorry. I mean, it might be nice. Then I remember what Dawn said about Good Willow, and I think twice. Maybe this chain is her apology. Maybe she trusts me to see what Dawn saw and understood. Dawn forgave Willow. Maybe I should, too.
I don't know if I can. She - at least the monster version of her - hurt us beyond belief. She hurt me. I haven't been so betrayed by someone so close to me since - well, since Angel. She threatened my little sister. No one does that and lives to tell about it.
Except me, of course.
I don't know if I can forgive myself. She was in such danger. I see it now - in hindsight, all the hints were perfectly clear. But I didn't see it, not believing that anything could be really wrong with Old Reliable Willow, until it was too late. And then, when it happened, when she faced us - yes, she - or that part of her that had taken over - was a terrible threat who committed horrific crimes. Yes, I had to fight her. But I could have said I loved her, too. I could have tried to hold her and told her that I understood. Instead, all I tried to do was kick her ass. And it almost cost us everything.
Xander, thank you. Again.
And then for a few seconds, when the bad Willow shot Dawn - I became that evil monster. Everything I've ever feared I might become. Thank God my friends held me back.
Maybe that's what I'm so afraid of. Why I can't face Willow. Because when I think of her, I realize that the monster could so easily have been me. The only difference was that the target was Tara, not Dawn.
Maybe its time I stop running from my best friend. Maybe it's time to understand what happened to her, and who she really is. After all, we do have a child together.
Maybe it's time to start understanding what it all means for me. Maybe it's time I stop running from myself.
I lie down on my bed, take a deep breath, and slip the chain over my neck. Soon, I am through a whirlwind of screams and voices, and am in total blackness.
"Play now?" a voice asks. Yes, Demon Willow. Sorry, make that yes, Bad Willow. Don't mean to be biased ever again. Play now. I'm ready.
The blackness shatters. Off to the side, one entrance to a passage flickers weakly with a dull reddish glow. I know the monsters will be in there, waiting. But my Willow will be there, too. It will just take a while before my light starts to shine.
I'm coming, love. I'm sorry it took so long.
Rupert Giles:
She's different now.
She used to smile and laugh all the time. She used to be so resolved, so reliable. Whenever we were down, she would always be the one spur us on, to cheer us up, carrying the reference book we really needed with one hand and giving us a hug with the other. "Old Reliable," we called her.
She rarely smiles now. She never laughs. She seemed contented for a while when the US and England managed to do as well as they did in the World Cup, but there were limits, and not just to the teams' performance. She spends a lot of time sitting her in bedroom, staring into space. Or writing in her journal. The psychiatrists have given her a lot of homework, and to her credit, she's been doing it all and more, painful though it is. Perhaps "Old Reliable" still applies. Perhaps it's wishful thinking on my part.
I try to spend time with her. We go on lots of walks around London, visit the tourist attractions, spend time in pubs. We talk of many things, and nothing. Sometimes I try to get her to tell me what she's feeling. She dodges. I push her. She looks down and tells me she's not ready, that she's already being pushed beyond her limits by the psychiatrists, that she needs some time to feel safe. I relent.
A few weeks ago, she told me that she was frustrated by her performance on some standard psychiatric tests. I was only in the tenth percentile, she said. I've never been in the tenth percentile on any test in my whole life, she said. Willow, I said, you don't understand how remarkable that is. A few weeks ago you would have been in the zeroth percentile. She nodded, but whether I helped I can only guess. I have learned to guess conservatively.
Things have been getting better. I have to remind myself of that. For the past few days, she's been having me hold her for what seem like seconds, but are really half-hour or hour periods. She still isn't saying anything, but she no longer pushes me away. I regularly hear her heart beating against mine.
Of course, her heart beats differently now. The scales began appearing on her arms a few weeks ago, in reality, and the physical changes to her heart began appearing on X-rays about the same time. She is becoming a new person in many ways.
On the upside, this new person will be granted the favor of being allowed to live. The Council and the coven have seen to that, exonerating her of charges of attempting to destroy the world. It was the least they could do. They could do more, of course. They could accelerate their snail- paced investigation into who Willow is, who tried to destroy her, and why. They claim the matter is complicated by what appear to be very high-level deceptions to hide Willow's identity and the identity of the attackers. I claim that some of the high-level deception is on the part of the Council and the coven. But we shall see.
A few days ago, the Council and the coven decided to include Willow in their new continuous improvement initiative. Yes, even the magical bureaucracies are trying to enhance their core capabilities. They asked her to fill out a questionnaire on how they (interpretation: me) tried to deal with her situation, and how they might "improve their performance in the future." She resisted, saying there was nothing they could have done differently - and did an exceptionally poor job of saying so. They - we - insisted she fill out the questionnaire. She relented, but only slightly, writing but a single sentence on the paper. At first I was frustrated with her. Then I saw what Willow had written.
"I wish someone had said they loved me after Tara died."
I spent the rest of that afternoon staring into space, just like my redheaded witch.
It is not just what is being done to Willow mentally. There are physical aspects, as well. With her new heart has come a dramatic increase in the rate at which her body generates and stores dark energies. These forces have to be monitored and controlled, as we have all been given an object lesson in what happens when said forces are allowed to build uncontrollably on their own. It is unimaginable what she now has to do to control them. I have no idea how she avoids going mad from the pain, although she has never cried out once. It is bad enough for me, and I only help her. Perhaps she finds the physical pain a welcome distraction from the mental.
And yet.
And yet, she will make it. I am proud of her, and what she has achieved. She doesn't understand the magnitude of being able to put "almost" in front of most what she did, considering the circumstances. Someday, I hope she will.
She has been scarred and injured beyond belief, but she has been toughened and hardened, too. The soft arrogance and self-satisfaction that was too often in her eyes is gone - not that it was ever really there to begin with, I remind myself. Her eyes now are filled with pain and regret, but they have the glint of tempered steel. They are the eyes of someone you just might trust to raise the dead.
I am reminded of the finest katanas - made of steel created by repeatedly re-firing and re-bending an iron bar, with the final blade being folded over a million times. Someday I will tell her about this analogy. Perhaps when I have any hope that she will appreciate it.
I cry for her crimes. I cry for her suffering, and my own guilt in causing it. I mourn for the young girl I first met in the library so long ago, for she is gone forever. And yet, despite everything that has happened, I am secretly very pleased. I like this new Willow so much better than the old one. This Willow is real.
Sheila Rosenberg:
I saw a picture on my mantle today, and, silly me, it took me so long to remember it was a picture of Willow. My little girl. Why did it take me so long to remember? Oh, well, just getting a little old, and attended a few too many conferences, I guess.
I don't think she's been home in a while. At least, not that I can remember. She's in college, but you'd think a girl could visit her parents occasionally. Oh, well.
Maybe she's still rebelling. I wonder why that might be... hmm, I know. Maybe she's unhappy about being adopted. I know it must be hard for her, not fully knowing who she is and where she's from. Of course, I don't know much about her either, other than her name, but... but, I do know where I can find out. The next time she visits us, we can take her over to that nice man at the adoption agency who found her, and see what he has to say. He had such unique rainbow-colored eyes, and he was so amusing when he walked! I liked him quite a bit, although my husband was a little creeped out. Oh, well...
I saw a picture on my mantle today, and silly me, I just can't seem to remember who it's a picture of...
Willow:
It's been two months since the bad classroom thing. Two months of pure hell they call "therapy." Okay, not that bad - I've been in a lot closer to pure hell, after all. Have to be completely honest, they keep telling me.
To celebrate, the psychiatrist gave me another test today. I've been doing badly enough on the multiple-choice ones, but this was one was a real challenge. Essay questions. And Daddy would get to help grade my answers. Worse, I'm under stresses that might negatively impact my test performance. I know that Buffy used the chain yesterday.
No postponing this test, though. Let's see. "Question 1: do you feel remorse for your actions between the time of Tara's death and your final return to having a single consciousness? If so, how? Be precise and honest."
Translation: am I sorry for what I did between the time my love was murdered and the time I threw up the cursed orb? Great. It's only the first question and I've already failed.
Sorry? When you've done what I've done, there is no sorry. How can there be?
Not that there's an hour that goes by where I don't think about it - all of it. So I'll at least be able to meet the detail requirements.
I murdered two people, one of them with extreme torture. There is no possible apology for that. No possible explanation. Okay - maybe there were some mitigating circumstances, and the test insists I be honest. One of them was a dirty magic pusher in the act of sexually assaulting me. The other was a psychopath who had just shot my best friend and killed my love. He liked hurting and killing women, and wanted to do it again and again.
But he was innocent of what I flayed him and incinerated him for - just a pawn in some more evil monster's game. And even if he was guilty, it wasn't my place to judge and sentence him. It certainly wasn't my place to torture him like that. No possible pardon.
I tried to kill Warren's two accomplices, who were really innocent of murdering Tara. Okay, Andrew seems to be bad news, but Jonathan - that could so have been me, under the right circumstances. In the end, he ended up better than me.
Towards the end, I tried to kill Giles and Buffy, two of the people who are closest to me in whole world. Okay, being honest, the little bit of humanity I had left managed to hold me back. I could have flayed them alive had I wanted to, rather than just throw them into walls and ceilings, shoot fireballs at them, and summon hordes of skeletons to eviscerate them. Go me. Again, no apology acceptable.
And then again with Giles... it had to be more skeletons, more crumbled masonry. And it had to be a gun. Goddess.
And then there's Buffy. The fear as she saw me with Dawn. The pain she showed as she threw me around the magic shop, desperately trying to keep me from killing Andrew and Jonathan. Worst of all, the deep look of betrayal in her eyes.
And then again with Buffy - well, Buffy wasn't directly involved. She just had to watch. I can't imagine what she must have felt when I shot... them. I just know what she did. I also know that she got to England by wishing for vengeance against me - through Anya. A little flag at the back of my mind pops up whenever I think about Buffy's wish, and every time I smack it back down. That's something I just can't deal with right now.
Of all the people I have to see again when I go back to Sunnydale, Buffy will be the hardest. I'd rather face Anya and her IOUs any day.
Then there was Xander. I don't remember trying to kill him directly, just caught him in the crossfire a few times and slashed him when he risked everything to save me. Thank you, Xander, for everything. Again, for the 1000th time.
Then there was that whole coming real close to ending the world thing. Oh, okay - I've been officially cleared of that. Good thing, too - I'll be allowed to live. The Council and other authorities deal strictly with apocalyptic threats. But for me, no guilt at all - other than being the massive threat that called the coven and Giles into action to begin with. Hard for me to get past that part, even if the Council and the coven see it differently.
Then there's Dawn. I couldn't write anything about what I tried to do - to her - and why - other than a single sentence. I still can't. But thank you, Dawnie. Thank you again, for everything, for the 2000th time.
And then there's Tara. Someday I might be able to mourn for you properly, my love. Really.
Oh, okay, being really honest, it wasn't now-me who killed Warren and Rack, or tried to kill Dawnie, or committed any of the other crimes. It was evil- me. But, evil-me was part of me, still is, and always will be. I let her out, let her take control. It was inevitable when I became too ashamed, too hateful of myself to get help, to trust my friends. To let them know what was really happening and try to drain the emotional darkness and physical darkness building inside me. Evil-me went on a wild ride of a rampage, but then-me gave her the keys to do it.
Because I didn't tell my loved ones about the evil demon in me, I ended up showing them. Goddess.
Even if - Tara hadn't died, evil-me would have come out, probably in a few days. And, have to be honest, I must, it probably would have been over an argument with Tara, and I would have killed her. My mind reels from what would have happened then.
Which finally brings me to me. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could go back to that scared, angry girl who secretly hated herself so much. I wish I could talk some sense into her, make her see how much she was loved. Gotten her to face the truth, and made her see that just maybe it could have been okay after all. But it's too late now. She's gone. No amount of sorry will change that fact.
So you see, Mr. Psychiatrist, I have failed your question. So just slap a big 'F' on my test, and let's move on.
"Question 2: How do you feel about yourself? Be precise and honest."
Oh. So now the Sunnydale School Board wants to assess my self-esteem. Have to admit that evil-me did get in a few good lines.
Hmm. I have committed appalling crimes for which no apology is possible, reference question 1.
I am a demon. My heart makes me one of the most powerful and potentially threatening of my kind. I have no idea how threatening, because I do not know what kind of demon I really am. Whatever I am, someone hates me enough to want to kill me, my friends, my family, my love, and my world. And, as a gay, Jewish woman, I do appreciate the symbolism. Fully.
It is not just being a demon. I do not know who I am. I know only my first name. I am Willow Unknown.
And Tara is gone. My light, extinguished forever.
Doesn't sound promising.
But there are a few things that aren't so bad.
I killed people. I almost killed innocent people, including my friends and family. I almost ended the world. But the key word is "almost." In the end, I did beat them. Both of them - the Willow who wanted to destroy her world from the inside as well as the Willow who wanted to destroy her world more directly.
And there's one other thing. Even at my worst, evil-me - I - never enjoyed it. Yeah, okay, this doesn't sound too convincing based on what I said and did, reference question 1. I craved it, yes. Anything to fill the dark void I had become. But I never, ever liked it.
Of course, the only way I could beat the split-Willow thing was with help. I have friends and family who love me. I wish I had understood just how much.
I can be a good demon, like Clem. There is no requirement that I have to be evil just because I have a few scales. I have a soul, after all. I remember my Plato: "Virtue has no master." Pretty good, huh, Mr. Psychiatrist? As for the bad symbolism that some people might use to reinforce their own bigotry - that's a problem that they have. They can damn well seek professional help for it. I am who I am, not what they want to believe. Sorry, Mr. Psychiatrist, don't mean to use profanity. Hope you won't downgrade me too much.
If all I ever know about myself is a first name, I will manage. I do not need a detailed label.
I will miss Tara forever. Her light is gone.
But there are other lights in my life - Buffy, Xander, Giles. Dawn. Sometimes even Anya, although I'm still dreading all the work I'm going to have to do to make up for the Magic Box. I miss them greatly. For too long, I was too ashamed to even consider reuniting with them. Now, I just want to see them again.
So I don't hate myself. Not anymore.
I don't know how much I like myself, though. I need more time. I spent so much time running from myself that I've hardly been introduced. But maybe things might be okay.
Time's up. Please place your pencils down on your desk.
Giles got to review my answers. He managed to keep his face expressionless the whole time he read them. Then he started crying. My heart sank.
Then he said something I will always remember. "I'm so proud of you, Willow."
I started crying, too. For the first time in months. A girl is always happy to please Daddy.
* * * The End (for now) * * *
Author's notes to follow.
Buffy Summers:
I got a letter from Willow today - a little box, more precisely. In that box was a brief note and a small glowing chain.
"Wearing this chain will give you the complete sensation of everything Dawn saw and heard. Use it as you see fit. I should be back soon, after a final round of psychiatric tests. Miss you. All my love, Buffy. Willow."
Oh, great. Dawn gets novels from Willow from a regular basis, and spends hours in the evening writing replies. I get barely a paragraph and a trinket that will show me everything I never want to think about again, much less see. Of course, that's a paragraph more than I've written my best friend.
Not that I haven't heard everything about the whole experience. Initially, I was so afraid Dawn would be permanently scarred, unable to tell me anything. And, Dawn was scared and hurt. But, to my eternal relief, she was strengthened, too. She has had no problems telling me everything. In great detail. All the time.
Willow - make that the two Willow pieces - God, this gets so confusing - was a greater threat to my sister than anyone has ever been, besides Glory. I still don't know what I'd do if Willow had maimed or killed my sister. But in the end, Willow gave my sister what she secretly wanted. Dawn now knows she's real, and she's a hero, too - just like Big Sis. The new hero is much less bratty and whiny, although if Dawn doesn't stop bragging about how she saved Giles and Good Willow, I'm going to stake her. I mean that in a loving way, of course.
I come back to the note. God, she could at least say she's sorry. I mean, it might be nice. Then I remember what Dawn said about Good Willow, and I think twice. Maybe this chain is her apology. Maybe she trusts me to see what Dawn saw and understood. Dawn forgave Willow. Maybe I should, too.
I don't know if I can. She - at least the monster version of her - hurt us beyond belief. She hurt me. I haven't been so betrayed by someone so close to me since - well, since Angel. She threatened my little sister. No one does that and lives to tell about it.
Except me, of course.
I don't know if I can forgive myself. She was in such danger. I see it now - in hindsight, all the hints were perfectly clear. But I didn't see it, not believing that anything could be really wrong with Old Reliable Willow, until it was too late. And then, when it happened, when she faced us - yes, she - or that part of her that had taken over - was a terrible threat who committed horrific crimes. Yes, I had to fight her. But I could have said I loved her, too. I could have tried to hold her and told her that I understood. Instead, all I tried to do was kick her ass. And it almost cost us everything.
Xander, thank you. Again.
And then for a few seconds, when the bad Willow shot Dawn - I became that evil monster. Everything I've ever feared I might become. Thank God my friends held me back.
Maybe that's what I'm so afraid of. Why I can't face Willow. Because when I think of her, I realize that the monster could so easily have been me. The only difference was that the target was Tara, not Dawn.
Maybe its time I stop running from my best friend. Maybe it's time to understand what happened to her, and who she really is. After all, we do have a child together.
Maybe it's time to start understanding what it all means for me. Maybe it's time I stop running from myself.
I lie down on my bed, take a deep breath, and slip the chain over my neck. Soon, I am through a whirlwind of screams and voices, and am in total blackness.
"Play now?" a voice asks. Yes, Demon Willow. Sorry, make that yes, Bad Willow. Don't mean to be biased ever again. Play now. I'm ready.
The blackness shatters. Off to the side, one entrance to a passage flickers weakly with a dull reddish glow. I know the monsters will be in there, waiting. But my Willow will be there, too. It will just take a while before my light starts to shine.
I'm coming, love. I'm sorry it took so long.
Rupert Giles:
She's different now.
She used to smile and laugh all the time. She used to be so resolved, so reliable. Whenever we were down, she would always be the one spur us on, to cheer us up, carrying the reference book we really needed with one hand and giving us a hug with the other. "Old Reliable," we called her.
She rarely smiles now. She never laughs. She seemed contented for a while when the US and England managed to do as well as they did in the World Cup, but there were limits, and not just to the teams' performance. She spends a lot of time sitting her in bedroom, staring into space. Or writing in her journal. The psychiatrists have given her a lot of homework, and to her credit, she's been doing it all and more, painful though it is. Perhaps "Old Reliable" still applies. Perhaps it's wishful thinking on my part.
I try to spend time with her. We go on lots of walks around London, visit the tourist attractions, spend time in pubs. We talk of many things, and nothing. Sometimes I try to get her to tell me what she's feeling. She dodges. I push her. She looks down and tells me she's not ready, that she's already being pushed beyond her limits by the psychiatrists, that she needs some time to feel safe. I relent.
A few weeks ago, she told me that she was frustrated by her performance on some standard psychiatric tests. I was only in the tenth percentile, she said. I've never been in the tenth percentile on any test in my whole life, she said. Willow, I said, you don't understand how remarkable that is. A few weeks ago you would have been in the zeroth percentile. She nodded, but whether I helped I can only guess. I have learned to guess conservatively.
Things have been getting better. I have to remind myself of that. For the past few days, she's been having me hold her for what seem like seconds, but are really half-hour or hour periods. She still isn't saying anything, but she no longer pushes me away. I regularly hear her heart beating against mine.
Of course, her heart beats differently now. The scales began appearing on her arms a few weeks ago, in reality, and the physical changes to her heart began appearing on X-rays about the same time. She is becoming a new person in many ways.
On the upside, this new person will be granted the favor of being allowed to live. The Council and the coven have seen to that, exonerating her of charges of attempting to destroy the world. It was the least they could do. They could do more, of course. They could accelerate their snail- paced investigation into who Willow is, who tried to destroy her, and why. They claim the matter is complicated by what appear to be very high-level deceptions to hide Willow's identity and the identity of the attackers. I claim that some of the high-level deception is on the part of the Council and the coven. But we shall see.
A few days ago, the Council and the coven decided to include Willow in their new continuous improvement initiative. Yes, even the magical bureaucracies are trying to enhance their core capabilities. They asked her to fill out a questionnaire on how they (interpretation: me) tried to deal with her situation, and how they might "improve their performance in the future." She resisted, saying there was nothing they could have done differently - and did an exceptionally poor job of saying so. They - we - insisted she fill out the questionnaire. She relented, but only slightly, writing but a single sentence on the paper. At first I was frustrated with her. Then I saw what Willow had written.
"I wish someone had said they loved me after Tara died."
I spent the rest of that afternoon staring into space, just like my redheaded witch.
It is not just what is being done to Willow mentally. There are physical aspects, as well. With her new heart has come a dramatic increase in the rate at which her body generates and stores dark energies. These forces have to be monitored and controlled, as we have all been given an object lesson in what happens when said forces are allowed to build uncontrollably on their own. It is unimaginable what she now has to do to control them. I have no idea how she avoids going mad from the pain, although she has never cried out once. It is bad enough for me, and I only help her. Perhaps she finds the physical pain a welcome distraction from the mental.
And yet.
And yet, she will make it. I am proud of her, and what she has achieved. She doesn't understand the magnitude of being able to put "almost" in front of most what she did, considering the circumstances. Someday, I hope she will.
She has been scarred and injured beyond belief, but she has been toughened and hardened, too. The soft arrogance and self-satisfaction that was too often in her eyes is gone - not that it was ever really there to begin with, I remind myself. Her eyes now are filled with pain and regret, but they have the glint of tempered steel. They are the eyes of someone you just might trust to raise the dead.
I am reminded of the finest katanas - made of steel created by repeatedly re-firing and re-bending an iron bar, with the final blade being folded over a million times. Someday I will tell her about this analogy. Perhaps when I have any hope that she will appreciate it.
I cry for her crimes. I cry for her suffering, and my own guilt in causing it. I mourn for the young girl I first met in the library so long ago, for she is gone forever. And yet, despite everything that has happened, I am secretly very pleased. I like this new Willow so much better than the old one. This Willow is real.
Sheila Rosenberg:
I saw a picture on my mantle today, and, silly me, it took me so long to remember it was a picture of Willow. My little girl. Why did it take me so long to remember? Oh, well, just getting a little old, and attended a few too many conferences, I guess.
I don't think she's been home in a while. At least, not that I can remember. She's in college, but you'd think a girl could visit her parents occasionally. Oh, well.
Maybe she's still rebelling. I wonder why that might be... hmm, I know. Maybe she's unhappy about being adopted. I know it must be hard for her, not fully knowing who she is and where she's from. Of course, I don't know much about her either, other than her name, but... but, I do know where I can find out. The next time she visits us, we can take her over to that nice man at the adoption agency who found her, and see what he has to say. He had such unique rainbow-colored eyes, and he was so amusing when he walked! I liked him quite a bit, although my husband was a little creeped out. Oh, well...
I saw a picture on my mantle today, and silly me, I just can't seem to remember who it's a picture of...
Willow:
It's been two months since the bad classroom thing. Two months of pure hell they call "therapy." Okay, not that bad - I've been in a lot closer to pure hell, after all. Have to be completely honest, they keep telling me.
To celebrate, the psychiatrist gave me another test today. I've been doing badly enough on the multiple-choice ones, but this was one was a real challenge. Essay questions. And Daddy would get to help grade my answers. Worse, I'm under stresses that might negatively impact my test performance. I know that Buffy used the chain yesterday.
No postponing this test, though. Let's see. "Question 1: do you feel remorse for your actions between the time of Tara's death and your final return to having a single consciousness? If so, how? Be precise and honest."
Translation: am I sorry for what I did between the time my love was murdered and the time I threw up the cursed orb? Great. It's only the first question and I've already failed.
Sorry? When you've done what I've done, there is no sorry. How can there be?
Not that there's an hour that goes by where I don't think about it - all of it. So I'll at least be able to meet the detail requirements.
I murdered two people, one of them with extreme torture. There is no possible apology for that. No possible explanation. Okay - maybe there were some mitigating circumstances, and the test insists I be honest. One of them was a dirty magic pusher in the act of sexually assaulting me. The other was a psychopath who had just shot my best friend and killed my love. He liked hurting and killing women, and wanted to do it again and again.
But he was innocent of what I flayed him and incinerated him for - just a pawn in some more evil monster's game. And even if he was guilty, it wasn't my place to judge and sentence him. It certainly wasn't my place to torture him like that. No possible pardon.
I tried to kill Warren's two accomplices, who were really innocent of murdering Tara. Okay, Andrew seems to be bad news, but Jonathan - that could so have been me, under the right circumstances. In the end, he ended up better than me.
Towards the end, I tried to kill Giles and Buffy, two of the people who are closest to me in whole world. Okay, being honest, the little bit of humanity I had left managed to hold me back. I could have flayed them alive had I wanted to, rather than just throw them into walls and ceilings, shoot fireballs at them, and summon hordes of skeletons to eviscerate them. Go me. Again, no apology acceptable.
And then again with Giles... it had to be more skeletons, more crumbled masonry. And it had to be a gun. Goddess.
And then there's Buffy. The fear as she saw me with Dawn. The pain she showed as she threw me around the magic shop, desperately trying to keep me from killing Andrew and Jonathan. Worst of all, the deep look of betrayal in her eyes.
And then again with Buffy - well, Buffy wasn't directly involved. She just had to watch. I can't imagine what she must have felt when I shot... them. I just know what she did. I also know that she got to England by wishing for vengeance against me - through Anya. A little flag at the back of my mind pops up whenever I think about Buffy's wish, and every time I smack it back down. That's something I just can't deal with right now.
Of all the people I have to see again when I go back to Sunnydale, Buffy will be the hardest. I'd rather face Anya and her IOUs any day.
Then there was Xander. I don't remember trying to kill him directly, just caught him in the crossfire a few times and slashed him when he risked everything to save me. Thank you, Xander, for everything. Again, for the 1000th time.
Then there was that whole coming real close to ending the world thing. Oh, okay - I've been officially cleared of that. Good thing, too - I'll be allowed to live. The Council and other authorities deal strictly with apocalyptic threats. But for me, no guilt at all - other than being the massive threat that called the coven and Giles into action to begin with. Hard for me to get past that part, even if the Council and the coven see it differently.
Then there's Dawn. I couldn't write anything about what I tried to do - to her - and why - other than a single sentence. I still can't. But thank you, Dawnie. Thank you again, for everything, for the 2000th time.
And then there's Tara. Someday I might be able to mourn for you properly, my love. Really.
Oh, okay, being really honest, it wasn't now-me who killed Warren and Rack, or tried to kill Dawnie, or committed any of the other crimes. It was evil- me. But, evil-me was part of me, still is, and always will be. I let her out, let her take control. It was inevitable when I became too ashamed, too hateful of myself to get help, to trust my friends. To let them know what was really happening and try to drain the emotional darkness and physical darkness building inside me. Evil-me went on a wild ride of a rampage, but then-me gave her the keys to do it.
Because I didn't tell my loved ones about the evil demon in me, I ended up showing them. Goddess.
Even if - Tara hadn't died, evil-me would have come out, probably in a few days. And, have to be honest, I must, it probably would have been over an argument with Tara, and I would have killed her. My mind reels from what would have happened then.
Which finally brings me to me. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could go back to that scared, angry girl who secretly hated herself so much. I wish I could talk some sense into her, make her see how much she was loved. Gotten her to face the truth, and made her see that just maybe it could have been okay after all. But it's too late now. She's gone. No amount of sorry will change that fact.
So you see, Mr. Psychiatrist, I have failed your question. So just slap a big 'F' on my test, and let's move on.
"Question 2: How do you feel about yourself? Be precise and honest."
Oh. So now the Sunnydale School Board wants to assess my self-esteem. Have to admit that evil-me did get in a few good lines.
Hmm. I have committed appalling crimes for which no apology is possible, reference question 1.
I am a demon. My heart makes me one of the most powerful and potentially threatening of my kind. I have no idea how threatening, because I do not know what kind of demon I really am. Whatever I am, someone hates me enough to want to kill me, my friends, my family, my love, and my world. And, as a gay, Jewish woman, I do appreciate the symbolism. Fully.
It is not just being a demon. I do not know who I am. I know only my first name. I am Willow Unknown.
And Tara is gone. My light, extinguished forever.
Doesn't sound promising.
But there are a few things that aren't so bad.
I killed people. I almost killed innocent people, including my friends and family. I almost ended the world. But the key word is "almost." In the end, I did beat them. Both of them - the Willow who wanted to destroy her world from the inside as well as the Willow who wanted to destroy her world more directly.
And there's one other thing. Even at my worst, evil-me - I - never enjoyed it. Yeah, okay, this doesn't sound too convincing based on what I said and did, reference question 1. I craved it, yes. Anything to fill the dark void I had become. But I never, ever liked it.
Of course, the only way I could beat the split-Willow thing was with help. I have friends and family who love me. I wish I had understood just how much.
I can be a good demon, like Clem. There is no requirement that I have to be evil just because I have a few scales. I have a soul, after all. I remember my Plato: "Virtue has no master." Pretty good, huh, Mr. Psychiatrist? As for the bad symbolism that some people might use to reinforce their own bigotry - that's a problem that they have. They can damn well seek professional help for it. I am who I am, not what they want to believe. Sorry, Mr. Psychiatrist, don't mean to use profanity. Hope you won't downgrade me too much.
If all I ever know about myself is a first name, I will manage. I do not need a detailed label.
I will miss Tara forever. Her light is gone.
But there are other lights in my life - Buffy, Xander, Giles. Dawn. Sometimes even Anya, although I'm still dreading all the work I'm going to have to do to make up for the Magic Box. I miss them greatly. For too long, I was too ashamed to even consider reuniting with them. Now, I just want to see them again.
So I don't hate myself. Not anymore.
I don't know how much I like myself, though. I need more time. I spent so much time running from myself that I've hardly been introduced. But maybe things might be okay.
Time's up. Please place your pencils down on your desk.
Giles got to review my answers. He managed to keep his face expressionless the whole time he read them. Then he started crying. My heart sank.
Then he said something I will always remember. "I'm so proud of you, Willow."
I started crying, too. For the first time in months. A girl is always happy to please Daddy.
* * * The End (for now) * * *
Author's notes to follow.