Another sort of lady
The memories of last night filtered back as I stirred, woken by the morning light streaming in through the half-closed blinds. At least I’d made it home, apparently. God. What had I done? The costume I’d chosen had seemed so perfect, a flowing black dress with golden embroidery. I’d thought about the pink one that was on display, but this one had seemed so… perfect.
Perfect. What a laugh. I grimaced and shut my eyes as a wave of memories threatened to overwhelm me. Broken bodies and shattered buildings. Sarya Dlardrageth, the woman I’d inadvertently dressed as, hadn’t been too thrilled at being pulled to Sunnydale at the moment of what should have been her triumph, and had gone on a rampage through downtown, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
Another wave of memories rose up; countless images of Sarya’s life sent me stumbling to the bathroom. God, I really had gone as an absolute monster. But that night should have been it, a few short hours spent as someone else. Someone, probably Giles, had stopped the spell, and things went back to normal. Only that hadn’t quite been the case for me. The slayer, it seems, isn’t quite as ‘white-hat’ as Merrick had told me when he gave the speech. We draw our power from the essence of a demon, just like Sarya. The two essence had merged, leaving me super-charged, and struggling to deal with five thousand years of memories. It was a miracle I was still me, but I could feel her lurking under the surface, trying to take me over again.
The memories rose again, thousands of names and faces, places I’ll never see trying to wash away everything I was. The images flashed by too fast for me to really recognize them, the face of a son, crystalline towers soaring into impossibly blue skies, and countless other scenes, each overshadowed by a rage so deep it terrified me and a promise of vengeance against those who would to betray me. Her. Whatever. At last the images slowed and I sank down against the clammy linoleum of the bathroom floor, drained. After a few minutes I struggled to my feet and caught sight of my reflection. Fuck. Apparently memories weren’t the only thing to carry over, I thought bitterly as I caught sight of a pair of wings.
Perfect. What a laugh. I grimaced and shut my eyes as a wave of memories threatened to overwhelm me. Broken bodies and shattered buildings. Sarya Dlardrageth, the woman I’d inadvertently dressed as, hadn’t been too thrilled at being pulled to Sunnydale at the moment of what should have been her triumph, and had gone on a rampage through downtown, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
Another wave of memories rose up; countless images of Sarya’s life sent me stumbling to the bathroom. God, I really had gone as an absolute monster. But that night should have been it, a few short hours spent as someone else. Someone, probably Giles, had stopped the spell, and things went back to normal. Only that hadn’t quite been the case for me. The slayer, it seems, isn’t quite as ‘white-hat’ as Merrick had told me when he gave the speech. We draw our power from the essence of a demon, just like Sarya. The two essence had merged, leaving me super-charged, and struggling to deal with five thousand years of memories. It was a miracle I was still me, but I could feel her lurking under the surface, trying to take me over again.
The memories rose again, thousands of names and faces, places I’ll never see trying to wash away everything I was. The images flashed by too fast for me to really recognize them, the face of a son, crystalline towers soaring into impossibly blue skies, and countless other scenes, each overshadowed by a rage so deep it terrified me and a promise of vengeance against those who would to betray me. Her. Whatever. At last the images slowed and I sank down against the clammy linoleum of the bathroom floor, drained. After a few minutes I struggled to my feet and caught sight of my reflection. Fuck. Apparently memories weren’t the only thing to carry over, I thought bitterly as I caught sight of a pair of wings.