friskymagick
The summer had been temperate, as they tended to be in this part of England. A nice change from heat of Southern California. It was odd, having Willow here at my ancestral home. But it was the best place for her. She'd been so sure that I'd take her to the council, and have her locked away, the way Wesley had tried to do at first with Faith.
But I wouldn't do that. I called upon the local coven instead, one of the strongest in all the world. When a slayer is at fault, then maybe, just maybe, call the council. But when a witch has a problem, it can not be corrected by time alone. Magick isn't something that goes away, or that can be given up. It is within one all the time. It was her geas that bound her to learn how to use it. And use it for Good.
I believe in her. Hell, we all believed in her. She was Willow. It was beyond reasoning to believe that she couldn't be saved. So I brought her here, and bade her learn from the best, not how to get rid of it, but how to use it. She was now the most powerful, not just witch, but magick user of any type on this plane, and it was nigh time she got a hold of it, so it'd never hold her again.
Hold her. She cried, often, and I'd gather her up in my arms, smooth back her hair and hold her. I could never tell her that everything would be okay. That it was okay. Because she'd taken a human life, and nothing/no one would ever make that better. Even so, I held her and let her cry.
It lessened, the crying with time, and I found the need to hold her in my arms. She held a certain warmth, a glow that I hadn't felt in so long. It'd been years since I saw Olivia, afraid of my life, of the things that came with it. But Willow knew, and knew I would never be a regular man. Still, after her connection with Tara, I didn't know.
Besides, she'd been my student. I'd known her since she was a teenager, and that little bit of knowledge was what kept me from asking for more. From kissing away those tears, rather than just holding her to me. She was not only my intellectual equal, but understood almost, what it was like to be a watcher, having been at Buffy's side for all these years. She also was the only other one of us who knew what it was like to take a life, even if I'd never told anyone.
She'd been a child, and now was a woman grown. And yet, I was so afraid to touch her. To let feelings grow and develop. Or at least, to acknowledge them at anytime within her presence.
She was young, and deserved better than an old, fuddy-duddy like myself.
But I wouldn't do that. I called upon the local coven instead, one of the strongest in all the world. When a slayer is at fault, then maybe, just maybe, call the council. But when a witch has a problem, it can not be corrected by time alone. Magick isn't something that goes away, or that can be given up. It is within one all the time. It was her geas that bound her to learn how to use it. And use it for Good.
I believe in her. Hell, we all believed in her. She was Willow. It was beyond reasoning to believe that she couldn't be saved. So I brought her here, and bade her learn from the best, not how to get rid of it, but how to use it. She was now the most powerful, not just witch, but magick user of any type on this plane, and it was nigh time she got a hold of it, so it'd never hold her again.
Hold her. She cried, often, and I'd gather her up in my arms, smooth back her hair and hold her. I could never tell her that everything would be okay. That it was okay. Because she'd taken a human life, and nothing/no one would ever make that better. Even so, I held her and let her cry.
It lessened, the crying with time, and I found the need to hold her in my arms. She held a certain warmth, a glow that I hadn't felt in so long. It'd been years since I saw Olivia, afraid of my life, of the things that came with it. But Willow knew, and knew I would never be a regular man. Still, after her connection with Tara, I didn't know.
Besides, she'd been my student. I'd known her since she was a teenager, and that little bit of knowledge was what kept me from asking for more. From kissing away those tears, rather than just holding her to me. She was not only my intellectual equal, but understood almost, what it was like to be a watcher, having been at Buffy's side for all these years. She also was the only other one of us who knew what it was like to take a life, even if I'd never told anyone.
She'd been a child, and now was a woman grown. And yet, I was so afraid to touch her. To let feelings grow and develop. Or at least, to acknowledge them at anytime within her presence.
She was young, and deserved better than an old, fuddy-duddy like myself.