I made a little speculation as to how the Charmed universe works this chapter, on one detail near the end, but it's certainly something the writers might have intended.
Beyond that, have some more Dark Willow!
Willow stood atop a grassy hill, her arms outstretched, chanting words in a long-forgotten language. The air crackled, and preternatural wind whirled: the air above her seemed to warp, and shimmer, a glimpse of something beyond occasionally, momentarily, appearing.
Her eyes were closed: pale, veined eyelids concealing darkness. Though she couldn't see, and it was hard to hear over the rush of wind, her lips curled as soon as Paige orbed into being in front of her.
"Willow," Paige spoke: half-shouted to be heard.
Her eyes opened, and they were still as black as before.
"I was wondering where you were," Willow said, utterly unconcerned by the energies arcing above her. "Took your time."
"I came as soon as I could," Paige said.
"Why?" Willow said.
Paige hesitated. Willow had said that too quickly.
"Why wouldn't I?" Paige said. "Willow, please, just stop this. You can recover, if you choose to: I heard that. You don't need to be… like this."
"Yes I do," Willow said, barely thinking. "What do you really know about Willow?"
It was hard to talk to the not-Willow. Her mannerisms, her tone, all were painfully familiar: the sadism just didn't belong. That, and her questions seemed to come from nowhere.
"What if I told you that, right now, Willow was glad?" the dark witch spoke. "She's happy. She doesn't need to worry, or care. Willow's missed being me."
There was nothing Paige could say to that: nothing that didn't feel as though it wouldn't fall flat. She didn't believe the witch's words for a second, didn't accept this darkness was somehow closer to Willow's heart than the redhead she'd come to know.
Still, not-Willow's calm assuredness sent a shiver down her spine.
Hopefully apropos of nothing, Paige recalled something the Elders had idly mentioned: they didn't know precisely how powerful Willow was. The hellmouth confused matters. It was wholly possible Willow was a match for the Power of Three.
And Paige stood alone.
"Do you want to hear a story?" not-Willow said.
There was no threat there. There was some sense of malevolence, no question; the same in any action this not-Willow made. Still, there was no indication she planned to put Paige in any danger: not that Paige thought even a Willow this corrupted would hurt her.
"Well?" Willow said. "You'll like it. I promise." She gave a disturbingly familiar smile, the effect only ruined by her empty eyes.
Uncertain, Paige nodded. Not-Willow's smile became a grin.
"That's better," Willow said. "Once upon a time, there was a boy called Jesse. He was one of Willow's best friends, someone she'd known for years," it sounded like she was recounting a fairy tale, before her tone turned harsh: "Then, one day, he was captured, turned to a vampire, and killed."
Willow's eyes met Paige's, as if that were comment enough. Uninterrupted, she continued the story, resetting her tone to the same, light recital.
"There was a woman called Jenny Calendar," Willow said. "Willow admired her. She respected Jenny; she'd never been happier than when Jenny complimented her. Willow wanted to be just like Jenny when she grew up. Jenny was why she became a witch. Then someone Willow thought of as a friend snapped her neck."
Willow's words turned staccato, and Paige winced. Apparently unaffected, not-Willow continued.
"There was a boy called Oz," Willow said. "He was Willow's first love. Puppy love: the first Willow would call a boyfriend. He was bitten by a werewolf, caged up, out of control, every full moon, and screwed around with another wolf before leaving Willow alone." A pause. "There was a woman called Tara."
That was the first time not-Willow's voice faltered. After the tragedies she'd listed, it still took Tara to reach her, it seemed.
Paige didn't know what to think of that. Regardless, she listened. Not-Willow didn't seem to want to be interrupted.
"Tara was wonderful," Willow said. "She was the first time Willow felt- She was the first time I felt like I could face the world. She was happiness," another falter, "And then Willow became a junkie. She didn't tell you that, did she? Obsessed with magic, desperate for her next fix, she threw Tara away. And Tara, wonderful Tara, forgave her. Tara came back, and lit up the world again. And then a tiny piece of metal took that away from me."
The air above Willow was still rippling, still unnaturally darkened. Whatever Willow was doing seemed to have paused, however, as she spoke: regardless, recalling Tara made it crackle. Paige flinched at the reverberation in the air.
Paige took a step back. For all her certainty Willow wouldn't mean her harm, the rage resounding in not-Willow's tone gave the distinct impression that there was nothing she wouldn't do.
"There was Kennedy," Willow said. "Willow saved the world, and Kennedy walked away. There was Xander: friends for years, then he moved off alone. There was Giles, who left the continent to escape her."
"Willow-" Paige began, but not-Willow was in full swing.
"That's the story," she said, "Moving away: a different state, country, universe, a different life. Everyone Willow cares about leaves her. Everyone she loves, goes. Everyone I want to stay, doesn't. And you think she doesn't long to be free of that?"
For precious few seconds, Paige was lost for words. All she'd seen of not-Willow, the witch had seemed free of emotions. She'd seemed indifferent, uncaring: inhuman.
In the space of a question, Paige's view had been shattered. Willow was the opposite. Paige felt both a surge of affection, and of fear.
"I'll stay," Paige said.
Her voice cracked: still, it was all she could think of to say. Some promise to keep Willow grounded.
"You can promise that?" not-Willow's momentary vulnerability faded. "You can go out to face demons every day, and go to where witches cry out for your help, and promise that you'll stay safe? What makes you the exception?"
"I've survived this long," albeit with a few close calls. Paige hesitated: "Willow, please. This is Abraxas, this isn't you. These aren't your thoughts."
Willow laughed. It was more a chuckle of amusement than any maniacal cackle, her lips curling just slightly.
"Abraxas?" Willow said.
To punctuate her words, the air above her flashed twice in quick succession. The instant between the two brief, white lights seemed, in contrast, to be a third flare, this one of black.
"I've surpassed him," Willow said. "I surpassed him long ago, and he knows it. He's been doing his best to run. All over the city."
Now not-Willow wore a smile: and it was genuine, and somehow all the more disturbing for being so. It just didn't suit her veined face.
In the darkened whorl above her head, a demon came into view. It didn't wear a human form, like most higher-up demons did, instead possessing clammy skin, and two long, slightly curved horns. Its ears were long, and pointed, and as much as its inhuman face could be read, its expression seemed to be one of fear.
In the few seconds she saw it, Paige recognized it from the illustrations in the Book of Shadows. Abraxas.
"Bored now," Willow said, her voice chiming.
The demon gave a cry of unutterable agony: and, as Paige watched, something tore it to shreds from the inside. In scant seconds, the source of all their troubles was turned to bloodless scraps of flesh, falling like confetti through the brief glimpse into its realm.
Willow's hair and eyes remained black as void. The brief, fearful hope Paige had held flickered out: vanquishing Abraxas was all she'd had, to help turn Willow back. Despite being told it would fail, it was something else to see how utterly it did so.
And they'd thought it would be impossible for Willow to do that. They'd harboured a slight hope hellmouth magic would work under different rules, but none of them had really believed it; Abraxas held an element of Willow's magic. The same principle had let him survive the Power of Three.
Still, a fully corrupted Willow had found a way past that, and torn him apart like it was nothing. For a moment, Paige was uncomfortably aware that she was genuinely scared of Willow, and what Willow could do.
But she was Willow. Still Willow. Surely she couldn't be afraid of sweet, smiling Willow? The sweet, smiling Willow who grinned like all her birthdays had come at once at a shout of agony.
All that was left, was to hope Willow would choose good again. Paige wished she could think that was likely, but the more she heard about this darker Willow, the more she saw…
"We've got Andrew," Paige said.
There was nothing to guarantee Willow would stick around, now: not now she'd vanquished Abraxas, which had apparently been what she wanted. Paige needed to pique her interest, to keep her near: and hope she could think of something.
"Andrew?" not-Willow tilted her head. "Oh. The other one. You can keep him, I've moved on."
As they'd feared. Paige tried not to let her disappointment show.
"Then what do you want?" Paige said. "You can-"
"No more pain," Willow said. "Can you and your sisters do that for me? Bring an end to pain."
"We-" Silence.
It wasn't a motivation Paige was used to hearing from evil. But then, Willow wasn't, strictly speaking, evil. She'd been corrupted by the demon she'd just killed: and the fact she'd been able to kill that demon, meant she still bore some free will.
It wasn't much, but it was a hope.
"I promise that we'll try," Paige said. "We can help. We- I won't leave you."
"How can you promise that? Willow said: raised her voice. "What makes you special? What makes you different to… Tara?"
Something shifted in Willow's tone: demands became a kind of realization, though what of, Paige couldn't say. She could only see that whatever anger had possessed Willow had trickled out. Rage and grief had been replaced by what might have been hope. Resolve.
For a moment, Paige dared think that there had merely been a delayed effect, that the death of Abraxas had changed things. Then eyes darker than ever looked up, and veined lips twisted into a smirk.
"See you soon," not-Willow said: and the wind picked up once more, leaving no trace of the witch behind.
In seconds, the park was clear. Undisturbed, with no sign of what had just happened there.
Willow had thought of something: come up with some plan. Paige didn't know what to think, though she suppressed the slight burning at how Tara had been the thought to inspire it.
She accepted Willow's love for Tara, and she wouldn't seek to change that. Tara's death had been a tragedy, Willow was fully allowed to mourn. It was just frustrating that she could stand in front of Willow, that she could plead, and it was thoughts of Tara that changed things.
Shaking that off, Paige focused, and orbed from the desolate scene.
.
Back at the Halliwell Manor, Buffy and Andrew sat in the corner. Piper sorted through vanquishing potions, and Phoebe swung a crystal over a map.
The crystal promptly exploded. Piper quickly froze the debris, picking each shard out of the air, and sighing.
"Scrying's not working any more," Phoebe said. "She's figured out how to block us. Or decided she doesn't want to be interrupted now."
"Imagine that," Piper said, lightly sarcastic. She looked toward Paige: "You sure she didn't say anything else? We're kinda stuck otherwise."
"Only what I've told you," Paige said. "Killed Abraxas, talked about Tara, got this weird look in her eyes, and left."
Phoebe had moved to the Book of Shadows, skimming through possible spells, by then. Part of Paige's mind was, also, dedicated to trying and figuring out rhymes (or, at the very least, a haiku), if any would help.
If Willow was blocking their scrying though, she'd probably also be resistant to anything they tried. The Power of Three might just about be capable of pulling through, though it'd be close: but they still needed to work out what they wanted to do.
Leo had been relegated to snack duty while the rest worked on Willow.
Andrew stayed wherever the highest concentration of sisters was, apparently rather nervous. While Paige had been gone, Buffy had shared the story of the last time Willow had succumbed to darkness, in greater detail: Paige had gone to a few mentioned locations (even if most were in a crater now) to make sure Willow hadn't returned to any.
There was no sign of Willow and, short of scouring the world, there didn't seem to be any way to find her. Her way of teleporting around ensured there was no way of narrowing down her whereabouts.
"I thought you said you could always track her down?" Buffy said. "Something like that. You said you could find her."
Paige turned her neck: didn't speak. Leo shook his head.
"Not any more," Paige said. "That only works if she's my charge. She's not, now."
"Only good witches get whitelighters," Leo said. "As soon as Willow stopped being one, the Elders rescinded her right."
"Elders," Buffy said, and sighed. "The more I hear about them, the less I like them. Any reason why, or just more annoying rules?"
"It's dangerous," Leo said.
Paige looked toward him, frowning. Buffy too seemed a little irritated at his vagueness.
"Dangerous?" Paige said, "I thought it was impossible?"
"You don't know?" Buffy said: "I thought you were both…"
"I was born," Paige said, "He became one after he died. He gets the whole handbook, I just get pointed in the general direction of a charge and told to hop to it."
"That's not fair," Leo said, "You've got a lot more duties, as a Charmed One. I wasn't really doing much after I-"
"Forget I said anything," Buffy said. "What I want to know, is why?"
"Me too," Paige said.
Leo sighed. Both Piper's and Phoebe's eyes went to him, as well. Andrew was far more focused on curling up by the wall, less aware of the species involved in the discussion, much less what was going on.
"You know how it is when you normally have a charge," Leo said. "You've got their voice in your head, constantly. Imagine if that voice was evil: it's worse the fewer charges you have. More and more of your mind is filled with evil. The consequences of that can never be good."
"Still not feeling much more than vagueness here," Buffy said.
"Fine," Leo exhaled: "It's one of the ways a darklighter can be born. Not something we- they like talking about."
The three Halliwells hesitated, each remembering their experiences with darklighters. By no means the worst evils they'd faced, but a perilous species nonetheless. One of the few things capable of killing whitelighters.
"Oh come on," a still unimpressed Buffy said. "Who names you people? Whitelighters, darklighters…"
Her levity didn't go remarked upon. Each Halliwell knew all too well how it felt to lose a sister to darkness; even if it had been reversible, before.
"Is it certain?" Paige said.
"Yes," Leo said. He hesitated: "But it's not immediate."
"How long would it take?"
"No idea," Leo said. "The more powerful the witch, the stronger her influence. An hour, maybe. Not long. There's a reason the Elders have a blanket ban."
"I'll risk it," Paige said. "They owe me a favour by now."
Both Piper and Phoebe stepped forward.
"Paige-"
"What, like we haven't done worse before now?" Paige said. "This is my choice, I'm happy to take the risk. Besides, I'm not in any danger. I trust her."
It was nothing she could put into words: nothing she could explain. But when she'd faced not-Willow, when she'd stared into those soulless eyes, she'd still felt safe.
As much as Paige loathed the similarities between the evil witch and Willow, she had to admit that, ultimately, the two were the same person. If she had nothing to fear from Willow, she had nothing to fear from not-Willow.
That, and she knew Willow still felt. She was ruled as much by grief as rage: far from a typical force of evil. And if Willow could feel grief, then she could feel loss: and if she could lose, then she could love.
And evil could not love. There was hope.
"She'll make the right choice," Paige said to her sisters' still somewhat-doubting faces.
"She will," Buffy said: moved closer. "Good luck."
Paige nodded her thanks, and slowly her sisters moved from uncertainty to solidarity.
"Good luck," Piper echoed.
"Yeah," Phoebe said, "Good luck Paige."
A nod, and a smile: a quietly spoken 'thank you' before orbs of white light ascended through the roof.
