Fic: Willow's Letter
A letter from Willow in England - post-Grave, pre-Lessons - to Buffy. Gen, PG rated.
Trying to get my mind back around the Willow-fic I've been writing for the last year or so. Decided to write something spontaneous in letter form to get me back into the right mood. We'll see if it works. Nothing spectacular, just two hours of writing whatever comes to mind.
Hi, Buffy,
Hey. It's me, Willow. At least, that's who I think I am, still. I haven't really been too sure lately with the whole destroying-the-world thing. I guess maybe you're thinking along the same thought lines.
I don't know if you've already thrown this letter down in disgust, but if you have, I totally get it. I mean, who wants to read a letter from the person who used to be their best friend, before they went all black-eyed-girl and dark magic? Who almost killed all their friends while trying to end the whole world? Of course, if you actually stopped reading after the first paragraph, you won't actually know that I get why you did, because you won't be reading this far. I'm babbling. What I mean is that I hope that you'll read this letter, Buffy, because I don't know how many times I've sat down and tried to write it and ended up with little bits of crumpled wet paper all over the place. I know I don't deserve another chance from you, or Dawnie, or Xander, or Giles. But I've been given one, and I need to use it for the right thing.
Before I say anything else (because boy, is there a lot to say), I want to say this. What I tried to do... what I did, that was wrong, Buffy. And there's no excuse, or justification, or misunderstanding behind any of it. It was all me, and it was wrong. Starting from the very moment I brought you back. Before that, even. Before I even met... before college even. I can't make excuses for myself anymore, I can't blame it on anyone other than myself. It was me who lost control of the magics, me who used them to put you all in danger, hurt you, again and again. And it was eating away at me until her... Tara's... death finally pushed me over the edge. I killed a man, Buffy. Not a demon, not vamp, a man. Yes, he was an evil geek who killed my beautiful girl and tried to kill you, but he was human. And I can't wash that away, Buffy. I think I know what Faith must have gone through now when she killed that man. The blood (the metaphorical blood, obviously) is never going to wash of my hands. I have to live with it. And Buffy, I don't know how you do it. Too kill and kill again and still keep living. Even though the tihngs you kill are of the evil non-human variety.
I still see it, every night when I close my eyes. It's getting better now, but the first nights were horrible. I'd see him in front of me with his skin ripped clean off, grinning like a lunatic. I'd hear her shaking voice say my name, and when I turned she'd be standing there, with all that blood splattered over her shirt, and her eyes so scared and disgusted and angry at what I'd done. She'd whisper 'how could you,' and then the skin would begin to peel off her body and I'd wake up soaked in sweat, alone in my bed, screaming her name.
But it's getting better now. I'm learning to deal with the grief and the pain of her death, in a good, natural, non-destructo-gal way. The coven's been great. I've been learning so much. I can't remember much about the days after Tara's death, or Giles taking me to England, but I can remember that when we arrived here, I was dead certain that they were going to drain the magic and then kill me. I didn't think I deserved to live, not after what I'd done. I wasn't even sure I wanted to live without the magics... without Tara. I'd almost, almost given up. I can't remember how, but I know that the coven pulled the last bits of dark magic out of me in some form of ritual the day after I arrived. All I can remember are the witches around me, the light, the power and the pain when it got ripped out of me. It was so deep, Buffy, so deep inside me that it was like my blood was made of slivers of glass being pulled through my veins and arteries and heart, tearing, burning. I can see Giles' face, contorted in the pain of watching me writhing in the middle of the circle. And then it was gone. Something that had been inside me, growing, since I comlpeted the spell that re-souled Angel all those years ago. At least, that's how they explained it to me.
When I performed the spell to re-soul Angel, I opened myself to the full power of vengeance-fuelled magic. I was in no way ready to perform a spell of that magnitude. I didn't have the defenses. And I can see that now. But I had to try, Buffy, because it was you and you were the most important thing to me, alongside Xander, of course. So I did. It was Gypsy magic, Buffy, fuelled by grief and rage and anguish, cast in vengeance. I could feel all those things rushing through me, multiplied by a thousand, a hundred thousand, a thousand million. I could feel the suffering of every single person Angelus had killed, every single family torn apart. And then there was the rush. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Power, raw, hungry power, followed by euphoria. In that moment, I wasn't me anymore. I wasn't shy, geeky, babbly Willow anymore. I was something else. And it never really left me. From that point on, the magics were my second nature. The learning curve was like an exponential graph (That's the one that starts increasing gradually and then gets quicker and quicker). With every spell I managed to find a little bit more of the rush I'd felt with the restoration. And with every spell, a little bit more of the dark magics crept into me.
Tara would never have become addicted to magic like I did. Tara never opened herself to what I opened myself to that day. The darkness never took root in her. She had magic in her blood, like I did, but hers never got tainted. But she could sense it in me. How many arguments did we have about my use of the magics? How many times did she ask me why I couldn't do things the normal, magic-less way? I can still remember the night that she told me that it scared her, how quickly I was becoming more powerful. But that wasn't my magic that was getting more powerful. It was the magics I'd absorbed. I should never have gotten that powerful. But the dark magics will always be inside me now. And I've got to learn how to control them.
And I have. At least I think I have. I’m so scared, Buffy. It’s like I’m a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off at any second like that one we used to blow up the Sunnydale High and the giant-snake mayor. Did I ever mention how cool that was? Poor books, though. Giles must have been so sad. You know how he was back then, all tweedy and book-guy. Everyone keeps telling me that I’m going to be ok, but I don’t know if they’re right, Buffy. Maybe that was what it was like when we pulled you out of the ground, out of... heaven, like you sang to that evil lord-of-the-dance demon Xander accidentally summoned. Well, maybe accidentally. I’m so scared of what I was and what I did and what I am. I tried to end the world. All those times we - well, mainly you - stopped the impending apocalypse, over and over again, first from the Master and then from Angelus (and I know now how hard that was for you, because hey, been there, done that, tried to end the world when Tara... and the Mayor and Faith and Adam and Glory... And after all that, I wanted to end it all.
I guess what I’m trying to say in this whole letter, Buffy, is that I was evil, really evil. And whether something crept inside me all the way back in high school or not, in the end, it was me who should have realised what was happening and where I was headed and I should have asked for help. But I thought I didn’t need it. I thought I was so powerful. I thought... I thought I was better than you.
And I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m so, so sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry I hurt Dawnie so bad, almost killing her even before Darth-Willow made her appearance. I’m sorry I pulled you out of heaven, and then tried to kill you again with my own hands. well, maybe not my own hands And God, I killed Warren, and I can’t even say that I regret it because it goes so, so much deeper than that. I have to live with that now. Please, Buffy, I know that it would be insane demon logic to ask you to forgive me after everything I did, and I won’t. But I want you to know how sorry I am. I know that you gave up on Faith, not because she killed a human, by accident, but because she wasn’t ready to face up to what she did and felt no remorse whatsoever. I’ve had my punishment, even though I deserve more. But the coven’s been teaching me a lot of things, Buffy, and I’ve realised that I want to live. I’m not ready to give up, and I really really hope that you didn’t give up on me completely. Because I just want to be Willow again. Geeky, crayon-breaky, internet-hacky, kinda-gay, Willow.
I don’t know if you’ll want to reply to this, but I guess if you do, it would make me kinda happy to hear from you. Unless it’s to say you never want to hear from me again, which I totally get. I’m pretty sure Giles would say hi if he knew I was writing to you, but I kinda haven’t had the courage to face him yet. It’s been almost two weeks, I know, but the idea of talking to him scares me even more than writing this letter does. Baby steps, I guess. I hope you and Dawnie and Xander and Anya are all well - stupid thing to say, obviously you’re better than when I left. I hope you’re ok.
Willow.
Trying to get my mind back around the Willow-fic I've been writing for the last year or so. Decided to write something spontaneous in letter form to get me back into the right mood. We'll see if it works. Nothing spectacular, just two hours of writing whatever comes to mind.
Hi, Buffy,
Hey. It's me, Willow. At least, that's who I think I am, still. I haven't really been too sure lately with the whole destroying-the-world thing. I guess maybe you're thinking along the same thought lines.
I don't know if you've already thrown this letter down in disgust, but if you have, I totally get it. I mean, who wants to read a letter from the person who used to be their best friend, before they went all black-eyed-girl and dark magic? Who almost killed all their friends while trying to end the whole world? Of course, if you actually stopped reading after the first paragraph, you won't actually know that I get why you did, because you won't be reading this far. I'm babbling. What I mean is that I hope that you'll read this letter, Buffy, because I don't know how many times I've sat down and tried to write it and ended up with little bits of crumpled wet paper all over the place. I know I don't deserve another chance from you, or Dawnie, or Xander, or Giles. But I've been given one, and I need to use it for the right thing.
Before I say anything else (because boy, is there a lot to say), I want to say this. What I tried to do... what I did, that was wrong, Buffy. And there's no excuse, or justification, or misunderstanding behind any of it. It was all me, and it was wrong. Starting from the very moment I brought you back. Before that, even. Before I even met... before college even. I can't make excuses for myself anymore, I can't blame it on anyone other than myself. It was me who lost control of the magics, me who used them to put you all in danger, hurt you, again and again. And it was eating away at me until her... Tara's... death finally pushed me over the edge. I killed a man, Buffy. Not a demon, not vamp, a man. Yes, he was an evil geek who killed my beautiful girl and tried to kill you, but he was human. And I can't wash that away, Buffy. I think I know what Faith must have gone through now when she killed that man. The blood (the metaphorical blood, obviously) is never going to wash of my hands. I have to live with it. And Buffy, I don't know how you do it. Too kill and kill again and still keep living. Even though the tihngs you kill are of the evil non-human variety.
I still see it, every night when I close my eyes. It's getting better now, but the first nights were horrible. I'd see him in front of me with his skin ripped clean off, grinning like a lunatic. I'd hear her shaking voice say my name, and when I turned she'd be standing there, with all that blood splattered over her shirt, and her eyes so scared and disgusted and angry at what I'd done. She'd whisper 'how could you,' and then the skin would begin to peel off her body and I'd wake up soaked in sweat, alone in my bed, screaming her name.
But it's getting better now. I'm learning to deal with the grief and the pain of her death, in a good, natural, non-destructo-gal way. The coven's been great. I've been learning so much. I can't remember much about the days after Tara's death, or Giles taking me to England, but I can remember that when we arrived here, I was dead certain that they were going to drain the magic and then kill me. I didn't think I deserved to live, not after what I'd done. I wasn't even sure I wanted to live without the magics... without Tara. I'd almost, almost given up. I can't remember how, but I know that the coven pulled the last bits of dark magic out of me in some form of ritual the day after I arrived. All I can remember are the witches around me, the light, the power and the pain when it got ripped out of me. It was so deep, Buffy, so deep inside me that it was like my blood was made of slivers of glass being pulled through my veins and arteries and heart, tearing, burning. I can see Giles' face, contorted in the pain of watching me writhing in the middle of the circle. And then it was gone. Something that had been inside me, growing, since I comlpeted the spell that re-souled Angel all those years ago. At least, that's how they explained it to me.
When I performed the spell to re-soul Angel, I opened myself to the full power of vengeance-fuelled magic. I was in no way ready to perform a spell of that magnitude. I didn't have the defenses. And I can see that now. But I had to try, Buffy, because it was you and you were the most important thing to me, alongside Xander, of course. So I did. It was Gypsy magic, Buffy, fuelled by grief and rage and anguish, cast in vengeance. I could feel all those things rushing through me, multiplied by a thousand, a hundred thousand, a thousand million. I could feel the suffering of every single person Angelus had killed, every single family torn apart. And then there was the rush. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Power, raw, hungry power, followed by euphoria. In that moment, I wasn't me anymore. I wasn't shy, geeky, babbly Willow anymore. I was something else. And it never really left me. From that point on, the magics were my second nature. The learning curve was like an exponential graph (That's the one that starts increasing gradually and then gets quicker and quicker). With every spell I managed to find a little bit more of the rush I'd felt with the restoration. And with every spell, a little bit more of the dark magics crept into me.
Tara would never have become addicted to magic like I did. Tara never opened herself to what I opened myself to that day. The darkness never took root in her. She had magic in her blood, like I did, but hers never got tainted. But she could sense it in me. How many arguments did we have about my use of the magics? How many times did she ask me why I couldn't do things the normal, magic-less way? I can still remember the night that she told me that it scared her, how quickly I was becoming more powerful. But that wasn't my magic that was getting more powerful. It was the magics I'd absorbed. I should never have gotten that powerful. But the dark magics will always be inside me now. And I've got to learn how to control them.
And I have. At least I think I have. I’m so scared, Buffy. It’s like I’m a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off at any second like that one we used to blow up the Sunnydale High and the giant-snake mayor. Did I ever mention how cool that was? Poor books, though. Giles must have been so sad. You know how he was back then, all tweedy and book-guy. Everyone keeps telling me that I’m going to be ok, but I don’t know if they’re right, Buffy. Maybe that was what it was like when we pulled you out of the ground, out of... heaven, like you sang to that evil lord-of-the-dance demon Xander accidentally summoned. Well, maybe accidentally. I’m so scared of what I was and what I did and what I am. I tried to end the world. All those times we - well, mainly you - stopped the impending apocalypse, over and over again, first from the Master and then from Angelus (and I know now how hard that was for you, because hey, been there, done that, tried to end the world when Tara... and the Mayor and Faith and Adam and Glory... And after all that, I wanted to end it all.
I guess what I’m trying to say in this whole letter, Buffy, is that I was evil, really evil. And whether something crept inside me all the way back in high school or not, in the end, it was me who should have realised what was happening and where I was headed and I should have asked for help. But I thought I didn’t need it. I thought I was so powerful. I thought... I thought I was better than you.
And I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m so, so sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry I hurt Dawnie so bad, almost killing her even before Darth-Willow made her appearance. I’m sorry I pulled you out of heaven, and then tried to kill you again with my own hands. well, maybe not my own hands And God, I killed Warren, and I can’t even say that I regret it because it goes so, so much deeper than that. I have to live with that now. Please, Buffy, I know that it would be insane demon logic to ask you to forgive me after everything I did, and I won’t. But I want you to know how sorry I am. I know that you gave up on Faith, not because she killed a human, by accident, but because she wasn’t ready to face up to what she did and felt no remorse whatsoever. I’ve had my punishment, even though I deserve more. But the coven’s been teaching me a lot of things, Buffy, and I’ve realised that I want to live. I’m not ready to give up, and I really really hope that you didn’t give up on me completely. Because I just want to be Willow again. Geeky, crayon-breaky, internet-hacky, kinda-gay, Willow.
I don’t know if you’ll want to reply to this, but I guess if you do, it would make me kinda happy to hear from you. Unless it’s to say you never want to hear from me again, which I totally get. I’m pretty sure Giles would say hi if he knew I was writing to you, but I kinda haven’t had the courage to face him yet. It’s been almost two weeks, I know, but the idea of talking to him scares me even more than writing this letter does. Baby steps, I guess. I hope you and Dawnie and Xander and Anya are all well - stupid thing to say, obviously you’re better than when I left. I hope you’re ok.
Willow.