When she dreams, she dreams in color. Red blood streams down her line of
vision, blocking out the sun. Black, the color of her betrayal- the color
of her evil-envisioned world, is like a worn blanket; even when it covers
her, she still feels the cold chill of fear. Long, sharp talons of ice
reaching for her, striking beneath the skin and leaving their marks.
She feels crystalline tears sliding down her face, hears Dawn's sobbing in the background. Sees the tombstone close up and tries to block it out, but it's forever emblazoned on her eyesight. Hears Warren's horrified gasp, sees the horror in Buffy and Xander's eyes.
Feels the sting of rage burning in her throat, the agonized ice of despair lodging in her spine.
When she wakes, all she sees is a cracked reflection of the world she once knew. Splintered, broken, just like her. Sometimes she wonders if she's in hell. A hell of her own making- maybe that's why it was always spoken about in hushed tones and fearful voices.
Hell is a state of mind, but it's also a place. A place that's lonely and cold. One she's been to many times lately.
She wonders if when Buffy was brought back, if when Buffy thought that this earth was hell, if it was better. Flames flying into the sky, demons running around aimlessly- that's the proverbial picture of hell. Willow wonders if that would be easier- you expect it, know what it is. It's clichéd and there's safety in that knowledge.
But in her gray piece of atmosphere, everything is foreign to her. Her hands, cracked and blistered from where she clawed at Tara's grave, begging her to come back. Scars on her arms where she'd tried to cut the demons out of her, before realizing that there was only one demon there and it wasn't in her, it *was* her.
Yet she realizes that this can't be hell. Because hell doesn't have friends still trying to save you. Hell doesn't have people caring. Hell doesn't have Giles bringing in soup and a blanket for you at night; Xander stroking your hair and telling you that he loves you, or Buffy trying to make it all better.
Willow knows now what inner evil she possesses. She's felt it, held it in her hand as it swirled into a tight ball ready to make the world an oblivion. She knows her weaknesses, her selfish thoughts, her troubled needs. And her friends do too.
Yet they still continue to love her, something she isn't ready yet to comprehend. Healing is a word she's stricken from her vocabulary for now. Salvation is for people who didn't mean to harm, who didn't have ulterior motives.
But maybe someday, someday this hell will open and she'll be released. Maybe someday she'll see in pastels again, instead of stark colors. Maybe then she'll finally be able to forgive and be forgiven, and dance with Tara under the moonlight.
Until then, she works for atonement. Grasps at her the precious thread of life that's still being held out to her. Wants to live, yet knows she can't do it alone. Needs Xander, Giles, Buffy, Dawn -everyone- to push her.
And it isn't a weakness, or a liability. It's her human admission of needing help. And even though the words don't come out right, even though she doesn't know how to ask for guidance, she's given it.
Maybe she does still have purpose.
She wonders if this is her punishment for messing with the fates, for bringing Buffy back. She wonders if she's meant to see this world as Buffy has after being torn from the perfection that was heaven.
Willow hopes one day she'll get the chance to tell Buffy she understands.
And to tell her she's sorry.
She feels crystalline tears sliding down her face, hears Dawn's sobbing in the background. Sees the tombstone close up and tries to block it out, but it's forever emblazoned on her eyesight. Hears Warren's horrified gasp, sees the horror in Buffy and Xander's eyes.
Feels the sting of rage burning in her throat, the agonized ice of despair lodging in her spine.
When she wakes, all she sees is a cracked reflection of the world she once knew. Splintered, broken, just like her. Sometimes she wonders if she's in hell. A hell of her own making- maybe that's why it was always spoken about in hushed tones and fearful voices.
Hell is a state of mind, but it's also a place. A place that's lonely and cold. One she's been to many times lately.
She wonders if when Buffy was brought back, if when Buffy thought that this earth was hell, if it was better. Flames flying into the sky, demons running around aimlessly- that's the proverbial picture of hell. Willow wonders if that would be easier- you expect it, know what it is. It's clichéd and there's safety in that knowledge.
But in her gray piece of atmosphere, everything is foreign to her. Her hands, cracked and blistered from where she clawed at Tara's grave, begging her to come back. Scars on her arms where she'd tried to cut the demons out of her, before realizing that there was only one demon there and it wasn't in her, it *was* her.
Yet she realizes that this can't be hell. Because hell doesn't have friends still trying to save you. Hell doesn't have people caring. Hell doesn't have Giles bringing in soup and a blanket for you at night; Xander stroking your hair and telling you that he loves you, or Buffy trying to make it all better.
Willow knows now what inner evil she possesses. She's felt it, held it in her hand as it swirled into a tight ball ready to make the world an oblivion. She knows her weaknesses, her selfish thoughts, her troubled needs. And her friends do too.
Yet they still continue to love her, something she isn't ready yet to comprehend. Healing is a word she's stricken from her vocabulary for now. Salvation is for people who didn't mean to harm, who didn't have ulterior motives.
But maybe someday, someday this hell will open and she'll be released. Maybe someday she'll see in pastels again, instead of stark colors. Maybe then she'll finally be able to forgive and be forgiven, and dance with Tara under the moonlight.
Until then, she works for atonement. Grasps at her the precious thread of life that's still being held out to her. Wants to live, yet knows she can't do it alone. Needs Xander, Giles, Buffy, Dawn -everyone- to push her.
And it isn't a weakness, or a liability. It's her human admission of needing help. And even though the words don't come out right, even though she doesn't know how to ask for guidance, she's given it.
Maybe she does still have purpose.
She wonders if this is her punishment for messing with the fates, for bringing Buffy back. She wonders if she's meant to see this world as Buffy has after being torn from the perfection that was heaven.
Willow hopes one day she'll get the chance to tell Buffy she understands.
And to tell her she's sorry.