(Locked to Emma Frost)
Everything had been fine after she'd returned home from New York. Her and Willow had set up a pattern. A life. She'd written to Jean to ensure that she was alright after her return, and to tell her that htings were going well. So the other woman wouldn't worry. Everything was perfect... Until the first letter she received back from Jean.
Willow had taken it from her, read it before she had a chance to. It finally took begging to be able to read her own letter from a friend. Just a friend. Nothing more. Not now, not ever. Jean would never have seen her that way regardless. She fell asleep that night crying.
A week later, she'd dropped a dish. Broken it. It was an accident. Nothing more. She'd been making something Willow had asked her to. Before she could start cleaning it up, Willow was screaming at her. Calling her worthless and pathetic. Pushed her down on the ground and slapped her. Tara cleaned up the mess and pulled the shards of broken ceramic out of her knees. She fell asleep that night crying.
The pattern repeated over and over. With Tara doing everything she could to fix whatever was broken, because it had to be her fault. Was always her fault. Willow had lost her soul. Had found a way to rid herself of it. That was what had happened. Now it was just a game. Tara was her pet. But once she knew it was a game, the jig was up. She'd grabbed her, slammed her into the wall over and over again, until Tara was limp and dazed in the vampire's grasp. Then Willow had run her tongue up the side of her neck, and bit her. Began drinking her blood.
Terror pumped through her veins. Her mind grasping, she'd cast the first spell she could think of. Falling to her knees, she found herself in front of a door. Very non descript. A hallway. Perhaps familliar, perhaps not. She put her hand to the side of her neck. It came away covered with blood. Her voice was deafening in her own ears, but barely above a whisper.
H-help me... P-please, someone, h-help me...
Willow had taken it from her, read it before she had a chance to. It finally took begging to be able to read her own letter from a friend. Just a friend. Nothing more. Not now, not ever. Jean would never have seen her that way regardless. She fell asleep that night crying.
A week later, she'd dropped a dish. Broken it. It was an accident. Nothing more. She'd been making something Willow had asked her to. Before she could start cleaning it up, Willow was screaming at her. Calling her worthless and pathetic. Pushed her down on the ground and slapped her. Tara cleaned up the mess and pulled the shards of broken ceramic out of her knees. She fell asleep that night crying.
The pattern repeated over and over. With Tara doing everything she could to fix whatever was broken, because it had to be her fault. Was always her fault. Willow had lost her soul. Had found a way to rid herself of it. That was what had happened. Now it was just a game. Tara was her pet. But once she knew it was a game, the jig was up. She'd grabbed her, slammed her into the wall over and over again, until Tara was limp and dazed in the vampire's grasp. Then Willow had run her tongue up the side of her neck, and bit her. Began drinking her blood.
Terror pumped through her veins. Her mind grasping, she'd cast the first spell she could think of. Falling to her knees, she found herself in front of a door. Very non descript. A hallway. Perhaps familliar, perhaps not. She put her hand to the side of her neck. It came away covered with blood. Her voice was deafening in her own ears, but barely above a whisper.
H-help me... P-please, someone, h-help me...