Reflection of Love
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
6,019
Reviews:
73
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
6,019
Reviews:
73
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Reflection of Love
Title: Reflection Of Love
Author: Pattyanne snapkik@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters belong to me and I make no profits from the story.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Summary: AU. Buffy discovers a mirror in her attic. The same mirror that was owned by William Cathcart over a hundred years ago. But who is the young man she sees in the mirror, and why are they able to communicate?
Rating:NC-17
Part one...
The house she had once been so happy in was unbearably lonely now.
Buffy had lived in this house for almost fifteen years. She'd come to live with her grandmother when the small plane her father had been piloting crashed into the ocean, killing him, her mother, and her younger sister.
Nana was the only family she had left. At the age of almost seventy-six, she'd been in wonderful health. Active in her church and highly opinionated about certain social issues, almost to the point of militancy, the old lady had been referred to as 'feisty' by the people who knew and loved her, and 'slightly off her rocker' by those who only saw her eccentricities.
Now, she was alone. Her grandmother was resting in peace at Roseland Memorial Park, the victim of a sudden and massive coronary that had shocked her physician of almost twenty-five years.
Wandering around the house, decked out in a black dress she would never wear again, Buffy puttered. Putting things that had been moved around during the reception back into their proper places, carrying plates out to the kitchen and scraping uneaten food into the trash, erasing messages of sympathy from the answering machine...and stopping every now and then to sit down and cry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was her house now, Nana's attorney had informed her solemnly. Even though she'd moved out of it almost two years ago, and she should never have done that, should never have left Nana alone. Had she been here, maybe she could have prevented the heart attack.
She should have been the one keeping the garden in check...doing the grocery shopping...walking the elderly terrier that was now lying on Nana's bed, whimpering softly in an agony of grief that all of Buffy's gentle attentions couldn't assuage...and climbing those damned three flights of stairs to fetch the spectacles Nana had left in the attic.
The last letter she had received from her grandmother had been mainly about that very attic. The old lady hadn't stepped one small slippered foot across it's threshold in more years than she could remember, but she'd been searching for a box filled with cards and letters she'd received from her dear Maxwell during the war. Once she had begun looking, the attic and all it's treasures from the past had drawn her back time and time again.
The attic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her heels clicked hollowly on the wooden floor as she climbed that endless staircase.
The door squealed when it was nudged open, sounding as though it was in pain.
The only natural light came from a small, stained glass window at the far end of the room, the side facing the street. Dust motes danced in the crimson and sapphire rainbows the sun produced as it penetrated the window.
It was surprisingly neat up here. Nana had made it sound as though the room was a cluttered minefield that she had to wade through cautiously. She must have been making some serious headway, because there were nicely stacked boxes against the walls, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the hardwood floor. Various odds and ends of furniture were draped with dropcloths. There were old dressmakers dummies, a Victrola, a broken crystal radio set up, and racks of vintage clothing.
Behind one of those stacks of boxes, there was a large object covered by a heavy moving blanket. Curious, Buffy pulled it away from the wall and lifted one edge of the blanket.
It was a mirror. One of the old fashioned, free standing kind that was taller than she was. Oval in shape, with an intricately carved dark walnut frame surrounding the glass, it swung around on a hinge, and there was another piece of mirrored glass backing it.
She dropped the blanket onto the floor and examined the mirror more closely. She was by no means an expert when it came to such things, but she could tell just by looking at it that it was very old. The quality of it's craftsmanship was something rarely found in the present world of snap together particle board furniture and futons.
Plus, the thing weighed a ton.
As she stared at her face in the mirror, appalled at how tired and pale she looked, a sudden ripple of the reflective surface caught her eye.
She blinked hard, and the glass smoothed out again.
Curious. She was obviously in need of a full nights sleep.
Draping the blanket back over the mirror, she left the attic.
TBC.....
(I'm going back to finish 'Spuffy Valentine' now, but I had to get this down before it disappeared from my brain.)
Author: Pattyanne snapkik@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters belong to me and I make no profits from the story.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Summary: AU. Buffy discovers a mirror in her attic. The same mirror that was owned by William Cathcart over a hundred years ago. But who is the young man she sees in the mirror, and why are they able to communicate?
Rating:NC-17
Part one...
The house she had once been so happy in was unbearably lonely now.
Buffy had lived in this house for almost fifteen years. She'd come to live with her grandmother when the small plane her father had been piloting crashed into the ocean, killing him, her mother, and her younger sister.
Nana was the only family she had left. At the age of almost seventy-six, she'd been in wonderful health. Active in her church and highly opinionated about certain social issues, almost to the point of militancy, the old lady had been referred to as 'feisty' by the people who knew and loved her, and 'slightly off her rocker' by those who only saw her eccentricities.
Now, she was alone. Her grandmother was resting in peace at Roseland Memorial Park, the victim of a sudden and massive coronary that had shocked her physician of almost twenty-five years.
Wandering around the house, decked out in a black dress she would never wear again, Buffy puttered. Putting things that had been moved around during the reception back into their proper places, carrying plates out to the kitchen and scraping uneaten food into the trash, erasing messages of sympathy from the answering machine...and stopping every now and then to sit down and cry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was her house now, Nana's attorney had informed her solemnly. Even though she'd moved out of it almost two years ago, and she should never have done that, should never have left Nana alone. Had she been here, maybe she could have prevented the heart attack.
She should have been the one keeping the garden in check...doing the grocery shopping...walking the elderly terrier that was now lying on Nana's bed, whimpering softly in an agony of grief that all of Buffy's gentle attentions couldn't assuage...and climbing those damned three flights of stairs to fetch the spectacles Nana had left in the attic.
The last letter she had received from her grandmother had been mainly about that very attic. The old lady hadn't stepped one small slippered foot across it's threshold in more years than she could remember, but she'd been searching for a box filled with cards and letters she'd received from her dear Maxwell during the war. Once she had begun looking, the attic and all it's treasures from the past had drawn her back time and time again.
The attic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her heels clicked hollowly on the wooden floor as she climbed that endless staircase.
The door squealed when it was nudged open, sounding as though it was in pain.
The only natural light came from a small, stained glass window at the far end of the room, the side facing the street. Dust motes danced in the crimson and sapphire rainbows the sun produced as it penetrated the window.
It was surprisingly neat up here. Nana had made it sound as though the room was a cluttered minefield that she had to wade through cautiously. She must have been making some serious headway, because there were nicely stacked boxes against the walls, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the hardwood floor. Various odds and ends of furniture were draped with dropcloths. There were old dressmakers dummies, a Victrola, a broken crystal radio set up, and racks of vintage clothing.
Behind one of those stacks of boxes, there was a large object covered by a heavy moving blanket. Curious, Buffy pulled it away from the wall and lifted one edge of the blanket.
It was a mirror. One of the old fashioned, free standing kind that was taller than she was. Oval in shape, with an intricately carved dark walnut frame surrounding the glass, it swung around on a hinge, and there was another piece of mirrored glass backing it.
She dropped the blanket onto the floor and examined the mirror more closely. She was by no means an expert when it came to such things, but she could tell just by looking at it that it was very old. The quality of it's craftsmanship was something rarely found in the present world of snap together particle board furniture and futons.
Plus, the thing weighed a ton.
As she stared at her face in the mirror, appalled at how tired and pale she looked, a sudden ripple of the reflective surface caught her eye.
She blinked hard, and the glass smoothed out again.
Curious. She was obviously in need of a full nights sleep.
Draping the blanket back over the mirror, she left the attic.
TBC.....
(I'm going back to finish 'Spuffy Valentine' now, but I had to get this down before it disappeared from my brain.)