((I know it's been awhile, and I don't know if anyone's reading anyway, but
I just wanted to say sorry for taking so long, the end is coming. So I hope
you enjoy the rest of the ride. And always remember to keep all limbs
inside the vehicle at all times. They are very difficult to replace. That
is all.))
The dreams had returned. Well, the actually had never stopped, but no one seemed to talk about them anymore. Everyone just floated by as if their evenings weren't haunted by visions of their end. Blood, anger, pain, frustration. So real they could taste the salt on the air, so many tears. So much hoplessness. Why were they even bothering. They couldn't possibly win.
*You won't win you know. You think the Slayer can help you? Protect you? Hmrph, won't happen, can't happen. She doesn't know what's coming any more then you. But you follow her all the same. Don't you. Good little lapdogs that you are. Shy, fearful that the master's gonna bite. Ah, how pathetic. Tamed, chained.
So go on then. Let her lead you down. You'll burn. Your families. All. All of it. All gone. So much for leadership. Better to turn back, spend what little time you have left in the sun. She can never lead you back into it, you know that. You feel that. You have the choice you know.
Oh? She didn't tell you? Well, of course you have the choice my loves, my sweets. You always have a choice. That is your power.
The power.
Choose.
Choose yourselves.*
The words were slick in their skulls. Every night as the potentials slept they were caressed, made love too. Their skin flushed, pink, yearning for the warm breath that would tickle their ears. Whispering the truth. Like cool liquid, thick and heavy, The scent of it overpowering *Power?* Then just as it would seem too much and they would cry out behind their closed lids for more, *Please, God, more!* It would stop.
Rotting corpses, their corpses, piled high, buried beneath the remains of countless others. Friends loved ones, everyone they ever knew. All buried beneath the blades and fangs of a sea of Turok-Han's. What chance did they have?
But then the images would fade, and the girls would wake. Move to the kitchen, the bathroom, bury their fears, and forget what they saw. Because, if they were to admit. Admit to one another what they saw in those dreams, and how seductive it all seemed, how all they wanted was to run back home and forget. Well, then it would be real. And this couldn't really be real. Could it? All these demons and vampires, evil seals and chosen ones. Hell, they couldn't even get that right. There wasn't a chosen one, there were a chosen two. So what could they know about anything anyway, right? Right.
So the potentials moved through the days (nights) steadfastly, never admitting, never questioning, never hoping. They took their instructions, training, and their Cap'N Crunch and asked for nothing more.
That is, until the day Willow and Buffy announced:
"It's Time."
The dreams had returned. Well, the actually had never stopped, but no one seemed to talk about them anymore. Everyone just floated by as if their evenings weren't haunted by visions of their end. Blood, anger, pain, frustration. So real they could taste the salt on the air, so many tears. So much hoplessness. Why were they even bothering. They couldn't possibly win.
*You won't win you know. You think the Slayer can help you? Protect you? Hmrph, won't happen, can't happen. She doesn't know what's coming any more then you. But you follow her all the same. Don't you. Good little lapdogs that you are. Shy, fearful that the master's gonna bite. Ah, how pathetic. Tamed, chained.
So go on then. Let her lead you down. You'll burn. Your families. All. All of it. All gone. So much for leadership. Better to turn back, spend what little time you have left in the sun. She can never lead you back into it, you know that. You feel that. You have the choice you know.
Oh? She didn't tell you? Well, of course you have the choice my loves, my sweets. You always have a choice. That is your power.
The power.
Choose.
Choose yourselves.*
The words were slick in their skulls. Every night as the potentials slept they were caressed, made love too. Their skin flushed, pink, yearning for the warm breath that would tickle their ears. Whispering the truth. Like cool liquid, thick and heavy, The scent of it overpowering *Power?* Then just as it would seem too much and they would cry out behind their closed lids for more, *Please, God, more!* It would stop.
Rotting corpses, their corpses, piled high, buried beneath the remains of countless others. Friends loved ones, everyone they ever knew. All buried beneath the blades and fangs of a sea of Turok-Han's. What chance did they have?
But then the images would fade, and the girls would wake. Move to the kitchen, the bathroom, bury their fears, and forget what they saw. Because, if they were to admit. Admit to one another what they saw in those dreams, and how seductive it all seemed, how all they wanted was to run back home and forget. Well, then it would be real. And this couldn't really be real. Could it? All these demons and vampires, evil seals and chosen ones. Hell, they couldn't even get that right. There wasn't a chosen one, there were a chosen two. So what could they know about anything anyway, right? Right.
So the potentials moved through the days (nights) steadfastly, never admitting, never questioning, never hoping. They took their instructions, training, and their Cap'N Crunch and asked for nothing more.
That is, until the day Willow and Buffy announced:
"It's Time."