'Your hearth is served cold,
Your sights are set in perfect stone,
And when you go, you go alone,
And when you stand, you're on your own.'
The dream was always the same.
She was running through the darkness, barefoot, slipping and falling. The ground felt like glass on the bottoms of her feet, and she was leaving behind a trail crimson footsteps. She didn't know where she was running to, or what she was running from, but with each dream she could feel it getting closer, and her destination getting farther.
Eventually, she would begin to slow down, her feet shredded, limping horribly. She would turn around then, slowly, as if she already know what she would see. It was always the same sight, the blurring of two figures, obviously female, and a third shapeless form between them. All were in white. All would smile.
And then she would wake up.
* * *
Buffy rolled over in the bed, her sleepy eyes roaming the darkness absently. She sighed and stretched her hand out towards the empty spot beside her, her fingers tracing the indent on the pillow.
This was the third week in a row that she'd awoken to find him missing, his place next to hers empty and cold.
Soundlessly, she left the bed and began pulling on her clothes, a pair of baggy cargo pants and a white tee-shirt, before moving over to the window seat and pulling open the curtains. The night sky was dimming slightly and the full moon hung low in the sky while a few straggling stars sparkled against the darkness.
Reaching into the pockets of her pants, Buffy pulled out her package of Virginia Slims. She studied the packaging for a moment before pulling out a cigarette and rolling it between her fingers. Lately, smoking seemed to have lost it's appeal to her and it had become a rare event for her to light up over the past few months.
Now, however, alone in the dark with nothing but a cold bed and his lingering scent, cigarettes seemed like the perfect thing to do.
Her hands shook as she placed the cigarette between her lips and let her lighter flare, extinguishing the light as soon as the cigarette lit up. She inhaled deeply, shoving the wave of nausea that accompanied the now unfamiliar smoke down. The second time it was a little bit easier.
She sat like that for hours, smoking and watching the moon sink lower into the ever brightening sky.
Your sights are set in perfect stone,
And when you go, you go alone,
And when you stand, you're on your own.'
The dream was always the same.
She was running through the darkness, barefoot, slipping and falling. The ground felt like glass on the bottoms of her feet, and she was leaving behind a trail crimson footsteps. She didn't know where she was running to, or what she was running from, but with each dream she could feel it getting closer, and her destination getting farther.
Eventually, she would begin to slow down, her feet shredded, limping horribly. She would turn around then, slowly, as if she already know what she would see. It was always the same sight, the blurring of two figures, obviously female, and a third shapeless form between them. All were in white. All would smile.
And then she would wake up.
* * *
Buffy rolled over in the bed, her sleepy eyes roaming the darkness absently. She sighed and stretched her hand out towards the empty spot beside her, her fingers tracing the indent on the pillow.
This was the third week in a row that she'd awoken to find him missing, his place next to hers empty and cold.
Soundlessly, she left the bed and began pulling on her clothes, a pair of baggy cargo pants and a white tee-shirt, before moving over to the window seat and pulling open the curtains. The night sky was dimming slightly and the full moon hung low in the sky while a few straggling stars sparkled against the darkness.
Reaching into the pockets of her pants, Buffy pulled out her package of Virginia Slims. She studied the packaging for a moment before pulling out a cigarette and rolling it between her fingers. Lately, smoking seemed to have lost it's appeal to her and it had become a rare event for her to light up over the past few months.
Now, however, alone in the dark with nothing but a cold bed and his lingering scent, cigarettes seemed like the perfect thing to do.
Her hands shook as she placed the cigarette between her lips and let her lighter flare, extinguishing the light as soon as the cigarette lit up. She inhaled deeply, shoving the wave of nausea that accompanied the now unfamiliar smoke down. The second time it was a little bit easier.
She sat like that for hours, smoking and watching the moon sink lower into the ever brightening sky.