beyond the rift } { shut your eyes, there are bluer skies
[Set after THIS. Open for people to poke and prod at the house covered in thorns and vines, but she will be in there for the rest of the week, and Sam has dibs on waking her up. =D]
Buffy isn’t the girliest of girls.
It’s not practical for what she does, and she knows it. That doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy being girly every once in a while, and last night had been-different. She felt like a princess. It isn’t very often that the girl who spends most of her time covered in dust and dirt gets to feel like a princess, so for once she isn’t going to fault the Rift shenanigans. She just enjoyed herself for a little while, with Sam, and relished in the fact that for once, she was just a girl.
The night ends eventually, and the sun comes up in the morning, but for one night, she gets to live a fairy tale. That’s something she isn’t going to forget.
She gets up the next morning feeling happier than she has in a long time, and that motivates her to get out to patrol early. She still isn’t a morning person but the sooner she finishes the sooner she can do other things, and be a normal girl. Maybe go track down Xander and make sure the Rift hasn’t turned him into a pumpkin. She has a feeling it’s been known to happen.
She wanders through Grant Park, hands in her pockets to cover the stake slipped up her sleeve, when she stumbles onto a small cottage sitting in the middle of the park. She isn’t sure when the Rift started picking up houses and dropping them there like something out of The Wizard of Oz, but she spends enough time in the park to know that that cottage was not there before-as in yesterday before, and houses aren’t built in a day. There’s also a small part of her that knows that she shouldn’t investigate, but there is a much larger part of her who can’t seem to be pulled away.
The cottage itself is nothing special. Four walls, with small, cluttered rooms, and a roof overhead. There’s nothing of note as far as possessions go, either. Not until she makes her way to the bedroom, and sees the spinning wheel and spindle.
There should have been warning bells. There should have been loud, jangly, annoying warning bells going off in Buffy’s mind at this, but there aren’t. There’s simply this need to get closer, to investigate this spinning wheel for herself. Her hand reaches out, aiming for the wheel itself, but stopping when her finger catches on the spindle.
“Ow!”
Everything changes in an instant. Her hair drops from its ponytail into long, flowing waves, and her clothes change from her regular patrol wear, to a sleek princess gown that pools at her feet. She barely even has time to process all this before a wave of drowsiness hits her, and she turns to stumble towards the bed, trying to use it to keep herself upright, but dropping to her knees instead.
“Not again,” she manages to murmur, before she drops to the floor completely and is out like a light.
***
Buffy isn’t awake to see what happens next, but she isn’t alone. She’s asleep on her side on the floor, when the old crone wanders in, picking her up and arranging her on the bed before the rest of the spell kicks in. Once she’s placed as a princess should be, she turns and hurries out the door, closing it behind her just as the vines and brambles start to climb the side of the house.
Later that day, anyone walking through Grant Park would notice a mass of ugly looking trees and vines, all huddled around something that once upon a time, could have been a house. Anyone who tries to approach the house will find themselves very quickly dissuaded not to look any further, but if you get close enough to look in the window, you might catch a glimpse of the “princess,” trapped in her hundred years sleep.
Buffy isn’t the girliest of girls.
It’s not practical for what she does, and she knows it. That doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy being girly every once in a while, and last night had been-different. She felt like a princess. It isn’t very often that the girl who spends most of her time covered in dust and dirt gets to feel like a princess, so for once she isn’t going to fault the Rift shenanigans. She just enjoyed herself for a little while, with Sam, and relished in the fact that for once, she was just a girl.
The night ends eventually, and the sun comes up in the morning, but for one night, she gets to live a fairy tale. That’s something she isn’t going to forget.
She gets up the next morning feeling happier than she has in a long time, and that motivates her to get out to patrol early. She still isn’t a morning person but the sooner she finishes the sooner she can do other things, and be a normal girl. Maybe go track down Xander and make sure the Rift hasn’t turned him into a pumpkin. She has a feeling it’s been known to happen.
She wanders through Grant Park, hands in her pockets to cover the stake slipped up her sleeve, when she stumbles onto a small cottage sitting in the middle of the park. She isn’t sure when the Rift started picking up houses and dropping them there like something out of The Wizard of Oz, but she spends enough time in the park to know that that cottage was not there before-as in yesterday before, and houses aren’t built in a day. There’s also a small part of her that knows that she shouldn’t investigate, but there is a much larger part of her who can’t seem to be pulled away.
The cottage itself is nothing special. Four walls, with small, cluttered rooms, and a roof overhead. There’s nothing of note as far as possessions go, either. Not until she makes her way to the bedroom, and sees the spinning wheel and spindle.
There should have been warning bells. There should have been loud, jangly, annoying warning bells going off in Buffy’s mind at this, but there aren’t. There’s simply this need to get closer, to investigate this spinning wheel for herself. Her hand reaches out, aiming for the wheel itself, but stopping when her finger catches on the spindle.
“Ow!”
Everything changes in an instant. Her hair drops from its ponytail into long, flowing waves, and her clothes change from her regular patrol wear, to a sleek princess gown that pools at her feet. She barely even has time to process all this before a wave of drowsiness hits her, and she turns to stumble towards the bed, trying to use it to keep herself upright, but dropping to her knees instead.
“Not again,” she manages to murmur, before she drops to the floor completely and is out like a light.
***
Buffy isn’t awake to see what happens next, but she isn’t alone. She’s asleep on her side on the floor, when the old crone wanders in, picking her up and arranging her on the bed before the rest of the spell kicks in. Once she’s placed as a princess should be, she turns and hurries out the door, closing it behind her just as the vines and brambles start to climb the side of the house.
Later that day, anyone walking through Grant Park would notice a mass of ugly looking trees and vines, all huddled around something that once upon a time, could have been a house. Anyone who tries to approach the house will find themselves very quickly dissuaded not to look any further, but if you get close enough to look in the window, you might catch a glimpse of the “princess,” trapped in her hundred years sleep.