I'm writing some shorter fictions, apart from my "A good night's sleep" story. So I decided to collect them here to avoid confusion posting them on the other thread.
I didn't rate this thread 'cause a lot of fics will be posted here and some are G other NC17. So, younger kitties, be careful to watch out the fiction rating before reading it.
Gratefully kissing on the cheeks every kitten that will read it, I start from the beginning (as usual): my first short W/T tale.
Enjoy.
ENDLESS DAYS
by 3peanuts
PART ONE OF TWO
FEEDBACK: You know I love it. You can e-mail me, as usual: x3peanuts@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: "Seeing Red" re-written. Willow and Tara meet the Endless ladies from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman". Tara is dead, but Willow's (and mine) plans are quite different from Joss's.
DISCLAIMER: Joss and other people own their own characters, and Gaiman and people at Vertigo own their own, too. I just borrowed them, and I'm not making a penny out of this story, so spare me the copyright stuff. Please.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I know...this story is ANGSTY, but it ends happily and there is some good smut in it too. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I wouldn't be able to write a fic with Tara without filling it with hope and bliss.
CREDITS: I thank Martina (aka Chaos Butterfly) for being such an incredibly perfect beta reader
. This story was meant to be a surprise for my gf/beta Sarabiga. And I dedicate it to her.
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---------------She walks alone, surrounded by the deepest silence. A heavy fog floats around her, while a thousand rats run fast between her feet: Despair stops in front of every mirror decorating her realm like an infinite gallery. She stands there enough time to catch the glimpse of a lifetime, the mirrors sending back to her visions of a world she’s visited once in a while, when she was younger perhaps. By the way, she knows that world well, better than any other under her command. It really is one of the most interesting: most of the life forms she’s encountered since the Beginning on this plane of existence, she finds, are boring, at their best. Exploring the evolution of a bacterium half a galaxy away from this world, she has to admit, is not as exciting as testifying the multiplicity in the twists and turns of lives on this planet. Multiplicity: an earth-shaking cry erupts from the mouth of tiniest of ants, when a flaming match is stuck onto the opening of a hole in the ground, swarming of life. Multiplicity: a young boy is hit by a baseball on the head: she looks at him falling on the grass in Central Park. His mother is screaming something. She can see a blood rivulet crawl silently from his ear. Multiplicity: a young girl is holding a dead body in her arms. She’s crying, but nobody’s there for her. Red spots stain her top. A larger mark is slowly collecting on the floor. Someone is dead, maybe someone she loved. Despair can distinctly feel the call from the girl: she’s calling a god. Reality rips open right underneath her frowning eyes. A roar, and a second later a god is dying. An ocean of desperation seems to swallow her with the small human reflecting on the crystal surface. And abruptly this is too much. Despair stands quietly in front of the looking glass: her hand is pointing her hooked ring to her chest. The hook is tearing to shreds her skin now, spilling a cold liquid to the fog around her feet, causing the frenzy rats to stop moving. Tears are fought back.
Willow and her unknown witness are alone again. Multiplicity and a mirror.
Stunned, as deprived of any sense or perception, Willow Rosenberg lets the dead body of her girlfriend fall on the floor with a dull thud. What is this I see? She’s asking, not understanding what she sees so clearly written at the bottom of her bright brain. She stands. There aren’t many options: suicide is not even an option. She wants Tara back. And she’s going to have her back, or she isn’t the stubborn daughter of stubborn Ira Rosenberg anymore. There are so many spells she could perform to bring her back, she thinks. Dark magic. But she has to get ready; she’s going to get dressed for the occasion. Wait till midnight? Doing what? Not knowing exactly what she’s doing, she leaves home. She doesn’t even see what’s happening to her friends: probably she doesn’t even care. Sunnydale has never seemed so insultingly sunny to her before, as she crosses the roads and turns the corners, headed to Tara’s dorm room: to find the books she knows she needs. To find heavy curtains to hide her mischief from the angry look of the God family taught her to fear.
As known, Tara’s room is quiet. Everybody is at classes now, or studying for tests. Nobody will hear her, nobody will ever know anything about what she’s going to do. She’s going to do something extremely wrong, she reflects, turning on the dimmed lights. She’s going to be a very naughty baby, this is the only idea filtering through the mists of pain in her head. She’s going, Willow thinks, tracing a great pentacle on the carpet with a white, luminescent dust, she’s going to break the first rule she learned as a witch. But she wants Tara back. She needs her back. Nothing else is worth worrying about, only now, only Tara. She’s Willow Rosenberg and she’s going to evocate Death.
“Hi Tara!”, the voice of a young girl welcomes her as she opens her eyes, lifting herself from the floor. “Hi!”, she repeats, straightening her jeans and top. At her feet the body of someone very familiar, dressed in the same way she is dressed, blonde as her. “Oh Gods-she moans-that is me, isn’t it?” Death smiles at her, friendly patting on her shoulder. “What’s happening here? What’s happening to me?”, she sounds surprised, more than concerned. Death fidgets with the Ankh pendant under her chin, then, still warmly smiling, she answers: “You’re kinda dead, Tara.”
The witch steps back twice, as to put some acceptable distance between herself and her pale guest. Then, nodding in understanding, she just stretches her hand towards the feminine image in front of her. The lady holds it tight, firmly but gently, as the hand of a stray child.
“What about Willow? I can’t leave her this way…”-says Tara-“She’ll be so sad…”
But Death is used to this: this is the worst part of her job, she thinks, consoling, offering her sympathy for every single lost goodbye, since the dawn of time.
“She’ll be okay, Tara.”, she says. “I love her.”, is the whining comment. “I know that.”
Obediently following her mistress, Tara crosses the edges of realities, and soon she joins Death’s realm. Wondering about her mother, she unwillingly walks through a path she realizes now she’s always known, even if this is definitely the first time she sees it. Suddenly her knees feel very tired and she senses she needs to stop. She sits on a mile stone, her legs crossed. An unlimited valley is stretched underneath her blue eyes, numberless daisies sway lulled by a summer breeze to the extent of the horizon. Only ruins of a clock tower interrupt the landscape, pending in a thin angle on the green grass below. They will not fall. Tara knows they won’t fall. She sighs, breathing in the spring scented air. This is a good place to stay, she thinks, a merry whistle escaping her lips, filling the wind surrounding her.
“Vene! Vene! Ego te appello. Mortem appellavi. De profundis regnans super humanas sortes! Vene, Domina ! Vene, Domina ! Vene, Domina ! Vene, Domina ! Vene, Domina ! Vene, Domina ! ”
Willow is tired: heavy drops of sweat beaded her forehead; her auburn hair is curled by the static electricity forming the magic circle. A will stronger than her, stronger than her body, stirs her to continue her chanting. She chants and chants for the whole day, nothing in her mind apart from Tara, the vision of her features, the image printed like the volutes of a fire on her retina. Her friends are looking for her. Sooner or later they’ll find her, kneeling on a pentacle, trying again and again her charm, trying to make it work. She fears she’s going crazy. The only idea that keeps her mind together is Tara. She wants her back: this is the only sanity she’s going to keep from falling into pieces today. Resting her head on her own shoulder, she tries to prop herself up, but she can’t move: her legs are cold as marble. She’s keeping the same position since she began the spell. She doubts she’ll survive. Her ear catch the sound of her own voice: it’s beginning to feel hoarser and hoarser, reducing to a whisper sometimes, sometimes powerful and vibrating as the stings of sorrow touch her heart. Candles are all spent: they died drowning into their own wax. The only light on her contracted face is the halo ascending from the circle and the star she’s carefully tending. It has to work. This time it will work, she wishes. I want it with all my heart. I want Tara back.
“You need some rest, young girl…”, the sound of those words snaps at the back of her conscience like a whip. She turns her eyes around the whole room, but half blinded by exhaustion, she’s not able to see anything. Unexpectedly a flash of light illuminates a heart-shaped red lighter, then the point of a cigarette, finally a beautiful visage. “Who are you? -she asks-Are you Death?”
“No, I’m not. I am Desire.”
Astonished by what’s under her pupils, Despair snuggles a rat, caressing the bristly hair under her fingers. A mirror in her gallery has changed colour and behind the veil separating her from the scene, she sees her twin sister talking to the same young red haired girl she’d seen instants before crying on a corpse, somewhere on the Earth. Disillusionment depicted on her face, her eyes wide open. Despair can almost hear her, complaining about her failure, even if her mouth is shut. There are things she can hear, things that make the whole universe tremble, although not a sound is audible. The human girl had deeply wanted something: she had called Death from the depths of her anguish. However, only Desire had appeared and was now standing in the dark room. One of her twin’s tricks, she thinks, wondering why humans are so reluctant in learning how dangerous is what they want. How dangerous wanting is.
“I didn’t call you!”, claims Willow, tears bursting in her green eyes.
“Oh, uncertainties of life.”, Desire’s tone is un-appropriately mocking. Willow bites her upper lip, trying not to show her disappointment. “You’re furious, aren’t you? You’re asking yourself how could you fail when so important a prize was at stake…I know how you feel, believe me.”
“Don’t torment her, sis!”
Willow looks into the darkness, till a flight of butterflies catches her look and drives it to a figure sitting on Tara’s bed. Delirium’s hair is made of rainbow flames.
“You’ve played enough. She’s mad at you. Or about you?”, the voice from the sitting little girl is confused. Desire’s not: “About me. Everybody’s mad about me.” She smirks.
“I wouldn’t say that, Desire.” Terrified by the third appearance, Willow gulps a breath in, clutching her hands at her chest. Her mouth falls open.
“See what you’ve done sister Despair. She’s petrified by terror. Nobody’s happy when they see you, sister, can you tell me why?”, Delirium laughs at her.
“Because she’s not good news, Del.”, Desire drags a huge mouthful of smoke in from the cigarette, staring into Willow’s eyes.
Collecting her courage, the red haired witch, stands up. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”, she asks boldly.
“You never know which Endless will pop out of that idiot pentacle, girl.-comments Desire-A man tried that spell before and my brother had to suffer for it. Death can be pretty elusive, if she wants to, little girl.”
Willow’s face turns hard and serious: “I’m not a girl, I’m a witch. You can be sarcastic as you like, but you’re actually under my power now.”
Desire’s lips contract in a thin line, while clouds of smoke are pushed from her nostrils. “Don’t be too daring. You have three Endless here, trapped and kind of annoyed. How are you going to handle it?”
“I didn’t mean to menace you. I just called Death to ask for something.”, Willow’s statement sounds clear and resolute, in spite of the fear shaking her heart.
“It’s not that easy-growls Despair-You failed calling our sister. Now ask us what you want and free us.”
“I want something nobody of you is able to give me.”, insists Willow.
“You’re getting on my nerves, little girl.”, Desire’s features seem harder now, as if anger is changing her whole personality. And sex.
“Not on mine, cause you’re not close enough to be on my nerves.”
Despair shakes her head: “It’s just a saying, Del.”
“Oh. You’re not making me nervous, because I’m having fun.”
Desire’s look always touches you deeply within, and she always uses it to establish her private order: “Please Del. Shut up a little.” However, it rarely works with her delusional sister.
“Listen. I have no time to waste, analysing the twisted dynamics of your dysfunctional family-claims Willow-I want my girlfriend back.”
“It’s not that easy. -Despair’s always sincere, in her own way- We have to call Death, she won’t be happy to be disturbed. And, by the way, we can’t call her from here.”
“I’ll help you -offers Willow- I’ll be your medium.”
“You’re not listening at all.”, laments Desire.
“Please.-two green pools full of tears stare at her/him-Please, if you’ve ever loved someone, please help me.”
“Yes, sis. Let’s call sister Death.”, it’s Delirium request.
“Call her. Before this little witch causes major damage involving our eldest brothers.”, it’s Despair’s order.
Sucking from her cigarette in a pensive mood, Desire sends her incredibly beautiful eyes all over Willow’s body. She finds her attractive. She’s so small, so lonely.
“Come, my sister. Come. Desire’s calling you.”, she utters calmly.
“And Delirium, too. Eh eh eh!“
Despair doesn’t speak. A thick mist protecting her eyes from the investigative look of the other two Endless. She feels oddly unhappy.
Feeding her goldfishes, Death hears her sister’s call. She expected it somehow. There are things nobody can feel coming. But she feels them. She feels them in her bones.
“Hi there. Sisters…and Willow, I guess.-Death’s tone is always nice-I forgot we had a girl meeting. I would have prepared for a sleepover.”
“This was not planned. This was not even meant to be.”, says Despair.
“Oh don’t be grumpy, sister. You know, with humans, you never can tell…So Willow, we’re here for Tara I guess…”
At that name, pronounced by Death’s mouth, Willow’s heart skips a beat.
“Yes. Please, send her back to me.”
“Tara’s well. She’s happy where she’s now, why do you dare disturbing her?”, are Death’s words.
“Because she’s been killed. I don’t even know exactly how. But it wasn’t right. It’s all a big mistake. I want her back.”
“A man killed her. You know there is no way to change what has been done by someone of your kind.”
“Someone of my kind? What beast could kill her that way? Have you the least idea of the way she’s been killed?”
“I know. I saw it.”
Delirium jumps up and down on the bed faking a snore and a wheeze, then disappears in a swarm of soap bubbles, rematerializing next to her elder sister, watching the pentacle absent-mindedly.
“Why don’t you kill him?”, she asks.
Willow’s eyes become distant and blank, then as to fix her ideas, she answers: “It would be un-useful. I don’t want anybody to die. I want Tara to live.”
“This has been tried. Thousands of years ago. It wasn’t a good idea.”, Death seems un-resolute, there is something in her voice, regret, thinks Willow, or another feeling, more achingly alive.
“I won’t be such a stupid as Orpheus. I won’t turn my back to see her. Don’t forget I am a witch.”
An icy glance is darted by the lady of death straight into her eyes: ”Don’t say anything like that in the presence of my brother Morpheus.”
“I don’t want to prove your patience, my Lady, but please, if you’re willing to help me, and I know you are, don’t let time pass anymore, give me my Tara back.”
“What if it is wrong?”
Grabbing her black top, her sister Delirium attracts her attention: “You can always ask Destiny.”
“Good. That’s right. I’ll go ask him. But Willow…”
“What?”
“I don’t think it’s wise.”
With those words, the thin, pale figure seems to be called somewhere else.
“Since we are trapped on this plane, my sisters, why don’t we relax and wait for Death to make up her mind?” Everybody’s looking at Desire now. There is always something incongruous about Desire. Always something that makes you uneasy.
“What did I say?”
But Willow’s not listening anymore: her eyes are lost into the light from the magic circle. What am I doing, she’s asking herself. And she feels so tired she almost faints. Delirium zooms around her like a puppy: noticing Willow’s exhausted expression, takes her hand into her own. Delirium’s touch changes the reality, and the red haired girl finds herself sitting on a bench, in a hospital, waiting for a doctor in front of a closed door. It seems a dream: she can hear no sound, and the atmosphere is unnaturally still. There is a golden nametag on the door: but the name on it continues changing, unable to stop. She reads it: “Doc. Jay-Doc. Jekyll-Doc. Jelly-Do.ho.jell.o-“, and on and on she reads, Delirium sitting next to her side, cuddled against her hip, with the head abandoned on her lap. She can’t do anything but reading, and slowly caressing Delirium’s hair.
“I accepted your visit, my sister. I know there is something you want to ask me.”
Destiny walks absorbed by his thoughts, concentrated on the pages of his book. Death struggles to gain attention. She waits till he stops wandering, under the giant statues representing her family, in Destiny’s gallery. “I’m here for an answer, I’ll go after you’ve given it to me.”, she begins.
“I know.”
“Something happened. Something unexpected. Something is causing a lot of pain and sorrow. Something I don’t like.”
“I know.”
“I want to change that. I’ve made something like this some time ago: I made a deal with a human woman called Hazel.”
“And you want to repeat that experience again.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to say if this is right or wrong. Death is under your command. This is your aim and your duty for this era. You chose once, you will choose again. You’ve already chosen.”
“I’m helping that little girl, brother.”
“It’s not for me to say if this will sow for good or for bad.”
“You’re not helping me at all.”
“I know.”
Turning her eyes to the billions of labyrinths departing from Destiny’s garden, Death takes her decision. And blinks her eyes. When she opens them, she’s in Tara’s dorm room again.
“Deal?”, asks Desire.
“Deal.”, at Death’s words, Willow’s sad face turns radiant.
“But you have to accept my conditions, Willow. If you still want to play this game.”
“I’m ready. Anything, to have my Tara back with me.”, her head nods involuntarily. ”Tell me what do you want from me.”
“There’s nothing you could ever do to repay me, little girl. But you’ll have to obey my sisters: this is the price I take. You satisfy their will, and repay them for having disturbed them. This is my deal.”
Smiling, incredibly happy, Willow accepts, and the three Endless are left alone with her.
Half smiling, Desire plays with her heart-shaped lighter. “Ask me.”, says Willow, full of joy and hope. Delirium looks at her confused. So does Despair.
“What do you want from me?”, insists Willow.
“I want to play.”, is Delirium answer.
“Would you play with this girl for ever, Del?”, asks Desire, malicious.
“No. It would be boring. For a day.”, flowers are created by her hands and fall on the floor.
“So. This is my decision.”
“What sister Desire?”
“I want a day of your life, Willow-she says-a day of your life. And you, want do you want from her Delirium?”
“Uh, a day of her life, I think.”, is the answer.
“And you, sister Despair, what do you want from her?”
“A day of her life.”
“So, you’ve heard us, Willow. You owe us a day of your life.”
Willow’s eyes turn into a greener shade of emerald. “Yes. A day of my life.”
And the spell is broken.
“How are you, Willow?”, she hears. Tara is standing in front of her, interrogatively looking at her.
“Tara… Tara…you…you’re here.“
“I didn’t move since yesterday night.”, she smiles seductively.
Willow feels astray for a moment, as if she’s been lost for a moment on another dimension.
“Willow? Are you okay?”
“Yes-she answers-because I am Willow. I think.”
--------------- Yay! Thanks! ---------------
"I like Amber Benson 'cause she's a proletarian" Sarabiga
Keynes was right
) before posting this fic on the Kitten was basically centred on the problem:" What if they don't know about Sandman and find it incomprehensible?".
that's just silly old me.
Hmm, seems like Death fulfilled her part in the story. Doubt she's gonna be making another appearace? Hehe. Cause I really like her in Sandman. In my opinion. She's funky. Lol. Ok, ok I'm being silly again here.
Hmm, Tara's back and Willow's not really Willow. 
I'm wondering if Tara will realise that eventually. Cause you know, W/T know each other really well. And I wonder who's taken Willow's place first, Desire, Delirium or Despair? Cause mann, if it's Despair, things could get really angsty. And if it's Desire... **soft chuckle** 
Been too much of a blabbermouth. Lol. Looking forward to your next update 
at: 10/29/03 5:18 am
and I'll keep on 
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