Willow's Last Thoughts

Title: Willow's Last Thoughts (Stand alone)

Pairings: Mention of Giles/Willow and Spike/Willow

Appropriate Ratings: NC17

Warnings: Death, vamping, character death, dark. I'm warning you this is dark!

Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.

Short Summary: Willow's allowed to record her last thoughts

Word Count: 946 (As per Word 2007 Word Count)

Beta: purpledodah and laazikaat

X-posted to: List on my LJ

Comments keep my muse well fed.

Once upon a time... that’s how these stories start, right? The ones with monsters, demons and scary things and princes and heroes and... Let’s not give everything away. Besides, who says those things happen?

This is the story, my last story. I was permitted a book and pen to record my final thoughts on my final day, the only time I’ve been allowed anything in my cell that wasn’t the thin foam mattress and blanket and of course the bucket I have to use as a toilet. I remember when I had more than this, but it’s all a faded dream. Flashes now and again, but I try not to remember, try not to remember a time before this, a time I was happy and how far I’ve fallen.

I was warned, of course I was warned, my best friend was the Slayer, wasn’t she? She warned us of the dangerous blond vampire, so did her librarian watcher. No, don’t think of that, don’t think of the library, don’t think of laughing around the table, don’t think of my friends, don’t think of their smiling faces…. Their dead faces. No, remembering was bad. My life began in that alley, and it’s going to end in this cell.

That alley… I remember that alley so well. Red brick on one side, brown slimy brick on the other. I remember…. I remember hearing a scuffle and thinking I could help, but as soon as I turned down that alley I was struck from behind and woke up here, in this stinking hole. Death will be a welcome release.

Then things got weird. Now and then I’d be given spells to memorize, and once in a while I was even made to do the spells. Not always though. It was almost as if he wanted me fresh on the topic, so I didn’t get rusty.

I saw them, after he killed them. He turned Xander, then staked him right in front of Buffy, causing her to pause, making the decapitating stroke that much easier. Her blood fountained in the room, striking everyone. Spike laughed and licked his face. I’m still covered in her blood . I’ve never been permitted to even try to rub it off.. It’s in my hair anyways, I’d still always smell it, always remember he told me I better not wash any of it off. Besides, this cell was half crimson, the blood never cleaned, just allowed to go down a drain… I heard it drip for hours. Oh how I hate that sound now.

Giles… Giles was turned, he came down to visit me once. Visit, hah. He’d done what I’d fantasized about once, but it wasn’t the way I fantasized it. He raped me, brutally, in all my holes, leaving me torn, bloody and a sobbing mess, dripping with his undead cum. He laughed at my pleas to stop, he finally started choking me and told me to just shut the hell up or he’d rape a corpse, he didn’t care. I went silent after that, but I couldn’t help some of the pain sounds, he didn’t seem to mind them either.

Spike fed from me, after that I’ve been regularly used for food or sex. Not Giles of course, he just got to go first, it was the one that had captured her, who’d stolen her and made her make magic that got dibs. The other vampires would taste her, but none would fuck her, or really drink. Last time he came he told me about tonight and gave me some time to prepare, then a few days later gave me a notebook and pen.

That’s my life, the one I had before doesn’t matter, no one left to miss me, my parents probably haven’t even noticed yet, and I’ve been down here… forever. I know my hair’s grown out, quite a lot. He likes it, says it’s his red curtain, his satin splendor…. He makes me wash it before he comes down to me. I tried not doing it once, but a broken leg really isn’t worth it, so I always do, except now… he wanted to smell Buffy’s blood when he buried his face in my throat.

Sometimes he’s kinda sweet, almost tender, other times violent and cruel… I still have scars…. He comes to me crying sometimes, sometimes elated, but lately, he’s been somber, almost in mourning. He’s lost something and whatever or whoever it was obviously meant a lot to him, I think it might have been Dru. Good. I wish I could say Buffy did it, but I know she’s dead… really dead, so it must have been some other Slayer, or maybe it was an accident. I pray sometimes for an accident like that, that one of the filth that comes in here to feed on me just drains me, makes me die, lets me leave and escape… but it’s almost as if I’m protected. They barely taste and then scuttle off.

Oh god, I hear him coming down the stairs, the key is in the lock. Oh god oh god the door is opening! He’s right behind me, stroking my hair, he encourages me to write on. Oh god, I don’t want to die! I don’t want my last memory to be of this hell! Oh please, please say you were just teasing!

He’s brushing the hair off one shoulder onto the other, baring my throat, he strokes the skin. Oh god I’m going to

*Blood splatters all over the page, sinking into the paper. Sometime later, into the bloody, dried paper, scrawled in a familiar hand, just more confidently.*

I owe Giles a visit…