Here is the conclusion of chapter 20. This is a high angst chapter.
Mary, I'll get back to your wonderful feedback later.
Title:
The Dark Rose - Chapter 20b (Three Small Words)Author: Dark Magic Willow
Email:
darkmagickwillow@yahoo.comRating: R, mostly for violence, no explicit sex
Pairing: W/T
Spoilers: All episodes through the end of season 6 though this story takes place 18-19 years after the end of season 6.
Feedback: Yes! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Summary: Realizations and choices.
Magic Note: Magic, even dark magic, is not addictive in my universe, so there are no withdrawal symptoms and no dark magic dealers. Here Rack was a dark magic teacher who used his students, not a dealer. However, you can use too much magic and you can be corrupted by the power it gives you.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BtVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Amanda and Juli for so much wonderful feedback on this chapter
The Dark Rose
Chapter 20b: Three Small Words"What was all the key business about with Dawn last night?" Tara asked. They were folding clothes together, the dryer having completed its cycle while they were eating lunch. The piles of untidy clothes on the floor were gradually diminishing as they created new piles of clean, folded clothes on the neatly made bed.
Tara wished she could talk with Willow about what she had read in the journal this morning. She was certain it would help Willow too. But she couldn't, not when she'd read it without asking Willow.
She had tried to push thoughts of the journal out of her mind with the repetitious movements of the familiar tasks of washing and folding clothes, but the feelings still haunted her. They couldn't be driven away by the scents of freshly washed laundry or the familiar ritual of folding clothes. She felt uneasy and depressed, as if she had taken on some of the burden of grief from the book.
Willow didn't seem to hear Tara for a moment as she continued folding the shirts in front of her, trying to figure out how to tell Tara about Dawn. It was complicated, and she didn't want Tara to misunderstand. Tara patiently continued folding the clothes from her pile too as she waited for Willow to answer.
"She's mystical energy transformed into a person," Willow said at last. "She was sent to Buffy to be protected from Glory. I know it sounds weird, but the monks who changed her gave all of us, including you, memories of Dawn so that we thought that she had been there all along."
Tara paused in her work and her brow furrowed as she tried to figure this out. "So she's not really Buffy's sister?" Tara said.
"She is," Willow said firmly. "She was made from Buffy's flesh and blood."
"I like Dawn," Tara said, reaching over to gently stroke the back of Willow's hand, her instinctive urge to reassure Willow overcoming her reservations from this morning. "I wouldn't want to hurt her. I'm just trying to understand."
Willow took Tara's hand in hers. "I know," she said, squeezing Tara's hand gently. "It's just ... if you ever said anything like that to Dawn."
Tara returned the squeeze. "I wouldn't," she said. "But could I ask you another question?"
"Sure," Willow said. Then her eyes narrowed, and she gave Tara an unconvincing frown. "Unless this is just a way to get out of folding clothes." She gave Tara's hand another soft squeeze to let her know that she was kidding.
Tara stiffened for a moment, Willow's narrowed eyes instantaneously bringing back that piercing sensation of cold she'd had as she read about Willow's thoughts about resurrecting her predecessor. Then she relaxed, knowing Willow wouldn't hurt her, at least not in that way.
"Hey!" Tara said, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to respond to Willow's teasing as if nothing had happened. "They're your clothes." She glanced down at their clasped hands for a moment before looking back up at Willow's face. "And it's sort of hard to fold clothes with only one hand." She made an awkward attempt to fold a shirt to demonstrate her point. It ended up in an ugly tangle.
Willow reluctantly pulled her hand away, sliding her fingertips along the length of Tara's hand as she did so. "If you insist," she said teasingly.
"I'll get you for that later," Tara said, but her teasing tone fell flat and her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Willow asked tenderly, her voice full of concern.
"Why does it have to be blood?" Tara asked. It wasn't just about Dawn's blood. It was about her blood too, the connection that she shared with the past but couldn't understand no matter how much she learned about what had happened.
"Blood is life," Willow answered. Her eyes were distant as her mind filled with thoughts of the past, of the night when she first heard those words. She'd lost her best friend that night, but she'd gotten Tara back. Now she had Tara back again, and she was resolved not to lose anyone, not Tara, not anyone, when she confronted the Master. "It's what makes us alive, what makes us feel," she continued, returning to the present. "Dawn isn't a witch. She doesn't do magic. She
is magic, incarnate as flesh, and she needs to shed blood to release her power."
"Isn't there another way?" Tara asked. "Can't you break the Heart somehow?"
"It's older than the world," Willow answered. "I don't think anything could break it, but we can throw it into the Void. I could create a portal to another world, but Dawn can open the Void that lies between them."
"But what if someone finds it there?" Tara asked.
"The Void is infinite. It's not like anyone could stumble across it," Willow answered. She cocked her head as she looked at Tara. "Why do you have so many objections anyway?"
"Blood magic seems dark to me," Tara said. She paused a moment, biting her lower lip as she tried to figure out how to say this to Willow. "I was afraid that night with the Master," she confessed in a hesitant voice, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. "You came so close to using the darkness. I'm afraid that if you do that, you won't ever come back."
Willow looked down, unable to face Tara directly with the knowledge that she planned to use dark magic once more in her mind. She wished she could tell the truth, but Tara had left her the last time she had broken such a promise and she couldn't risk losing her again.
Yet the Master was too powerful to ignore, and she had to stop him before Tara was hurt. Willow was caught between two wrong choices; lying to Tara seemed to be the lesser of two evils. She just couldn't ignore the Master as she had Warren, knowing the cost of that all too well.
"I will always come back," Willow promised, looking up into Tara's face with determination in her eyes. It was the most she could truthfully promise Tara. She reached over to take both of Tara's hands in her own. "And Dawn's power isn't in any way dark. You can talk with her about it if it worries you."
"I believe you," Tara's said, squeezing Willow's hand. "But I'm still worried about what happened with the Master."
"I just-" Willow began and then broke off. She swallowed convulsively. "I can't lose you again."
"You won't," Tara promised, taking both of Willow's hands in her own and looking steadily into her dark eyes. "You don't need dark magic to keep me. You just need to love me." She looked deep into Willow's dark eyes, searching for a hint of the love that she felt for Willow being returned. "I need you to be just mine. I don't want to share you with the past or the magic."
"I am, you know," Willow said, looking up into Tara's blue eyes then nervously looking away, her heart beating too rapidly. She thought Tara loved her, but she was afraid of saying those three small words too soon. Willow had enough courage to offer Tara these words instead. They meant as much to her, but they were safer. She had treasured them for a lifetime and their memory had kept her going when despair was all around her. She hoped Tara could accept this gift for what it was. A promise of a future together.
"What?" Tara asked, perplexed by the emphasis Willow was placing on her words. She could see how nervous Willow was, but she didn't understand why. Was this when Willow would tell her that she couldn't love her, that she only could love the past Tara?
"Yours," Willow promised in a whisper, needing all her courage to look into Tara's eyes to see her reaction.
She could feel the importance of Willow's words, but they rang hollow to her. There was something withheld from her in Willow's dark eyes. She couldn't believe Willow after what she'd read in her journal. She wasn't Willow's Tara; she was just a shadow of that memory that Willow was willing to settle for.
"Are you?" Tara asked, her eyes full of doubts. "Aren't you hers?" She dropped Willow's hands and stepped back from her.
"Whose?" Willow asked, her brow knit with puzzlement and hurt. Willow felt the caustic words of Tara's rejection burn deeply into her unprotected heart. She had been worried about Tara rejecting her, but she felt completely blindsided by the vehemence of Tara's response. Who could Tara be talking about? There hadn't been anyone else ... not for years and years.
"The other Tara," Tara said harshly, her voice rough with anger and pain. Her expression was bleak, empty of hope, as all the emotions she'd pent up came tumbling out. "The old one. She's the one that you love, not me." She swept her hands out abruptly in a short, jagged gesture as if snapping the thread connecting them, knocking over one of the piles of neatly folded clothes. This issue had been eating at her for weeks. Willow's incredulous face made her all the more angry when she knew from reading her journal that Willow had been thinking just this.
"Tara, no," Willow said, her voice catching in her throat. She reached out to take Tara's hand in her own, but Tara slipped away from her. She gazed at Tara, her eyes full of hurt and her hands empty and slack at her sides. "What happened? Why are you saying these things?"
Driven by her anger, Tara bent down and yanked Willow's journal out from under the bed where she had slipped it this morning. She slammed it down on the bed, knocking over another pile of folded clothes. "I read it in your own handwriting," Tara said, her voice sharp and loud with anger. "Tell me that you love me," she challenged. "You told me that you love her, but you've never said those three small words to me."
Willow focused on the journal for a moment, her heart contracting painfully as she felt a shadow of the grief she'd thought safely bound between those covers fall over her. The thought that Tara would dig up her old pain and use it against her made her feel hurt at first, then angry. She looked back up at Tara, her eyes flashing with anger. "How did you find that?" she demanded. "You had no right-"
"No, I didn't" Tara admitted, cutting Willow off with a short, sharp gesture. "You're avoiding my question," she said. She turned half away from Willow, shrugging as she did so. "But I guess already know the answer," she said in a soft, sad voice.
"Tara, you're still the same person," Willow said. "I never stopped loving you." Her tone was impatient, as if the truth of her words should have been obvious to anyone.
Tara whirled back to face Willow, her blonde hair splashing about wildly. "But I'm not," she said. "I'm me, a real person, not just an extension of the past." She raised her hands as if to plead with Willow, then realizing what she was doing, curled her fingers into fists and brought her hands back to her sides. "Why can't you understand that?"
"I-" Willow began.
Tara shook her head, her eyes dull with pain and despair. "It doesn't matter," she said in a low, despondent voice. She grabbed her jacket and start out the door.
"Tara, wait!" Willow pleaded, her expression desperate and fearful. Her anger fled in the face of her fear as her mind worked feverishly trying to understand why Tara was suddenly so upset. What had Tara read in her journal? If she could just get Tara to talk with her, even argue with her, she could fix things. She reached for Tara's shoulder.
Tara shrugged off Willow's hand, leaving the room with long brisk strides. Looking back over her shoulder, she said "Just leave me alone," her voice cold and hard. Willow followed Tara to the door, desperately seeking the words that would stop her from leaving, but Tara walked out the door without a backward glance.
Willow stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind her as she watched Tara walk away. She reached out in a hopeless gesture, but only the fingers of her shadow touched Tara. Then they slipped away, unable to hold onto her.
* * * * * * In a shadowy room illuminated by a single black candle, Amy Madison sat in the center of concentric circles of blood red sand. Between the circles writhed the strange and malevolent shapes of mystical symbols written in some dark, sticky fluid. A black crossbow bolt lay on the floor before her. She held an athame in her left hand and extended her other hand above a small porphyry bowl. A small silver stylus lay beside the bowl.
She cut open her palm with a deft, practiced motion and squeezed blood out of her fisted hand into the bowl. Blood slowly dripped into bowl from her hand. Once the flow stopped, she put the athame aside and picked up the stylus. Dipping it into the bowl, she began to meticulously scribe tiny runes on the bolt in her own blood. "By my blood and thy name, I thee slay," she chanted over and over as she wrote until the bolt was covered in runes of dried blood that spelled death for the one it was destined for.
Looking down at her handiwork, Amy smiled. The lengthy process of preparation was finally complete. No shields or protections could save Willow from a spell enclosing her true name. The slightest contact with the bolt would be fatal.
All she had to do was say three small words.
* * * * * * Willow sat on the bed staring into her bedroom mirror, her eyes red from crying. The mirror was new. She'd just moved it in here today, finally believing that she could keep something so fragile and breakable close to her. Her reflection flickered as the single red candle illuminating the room began to gutter and die out.
She had stared into the mirror for hours, wondering who the person in the mirror was. She had known the person she'd seen in the mirror this morning. That had been Tara's Willow, the Willow of Willow and Tara. The two names felt so right when she said them together.
Now she didn't know who she was. She had given everything, leaving nothing for herself, to get that feeling back. She thought again and realized that that wasn't true. There was grief. And despair. Her old companions had returned when Tara had left.
A single thought echoed over and over in her mind. Tara was gone. She didn't want Willow any longer.
Willow couldn't blame her. She knew it was her fault. If only she hadn't gotten angry, if only she hadn't hesitated to say those three small words. She was foolish to have thought that someone like Tara would want her.
The years in the darkness had marked her. She didn't have the right to bring such darkness down on someone so bright, but there was something she could do. Tara was alive and Willow could ensure that she stayed that way. Tonight she would destroy the Master.
She slowly stood up and began undressing, looking down at the black leathers she had removed from their trunk and neatly laid out on the empty bed beside her. Clean and once neatly folded clothes lay in a tangled mass by the bed. Deliberately, article by article, she replaced her clothes of the day with the black leathers. After stretching her fingers into black leather gloves, she picked up the final article of clothing from the bed and turned to face the mirror.
Years alone had made the image she saw now in the mirror familiar to her. The dark witch in the mirror looked right. Strong, powerful, mysterious. But also alone, grieving, and despondent.
It was how she was meant to be, she told herself. She looked into the mirror and saw a person who could defeat the Master, but there was something missing in her eyes. Where there once always been the smallest of hopes underlying the steely determination, there was nothing now.
Looking deeply into the mirror, she said "Goodbye," whether to herself or to Tara she wasn't sure. Then she placed the black mask over her face. The candle guttered out and the image in the mirror faded to black.
--
"Omnia mutantur, nihil interit." -- "Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost."
I can’t get enough of your writing. Realistically, however, I hope you’re enjoying your time away and would like to give you an extra special thanks for taking time out to give us this.
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. Am I the only one who's wondering what Amy has been doing for the last 18 years ? Can't imagine she has been playing nice witch in the magic shop that long. Speaking of which.... how did she ever manage to buy/rent Giles magic shop in the first place ? It's not like he would knowingly sell it to a miss A. Madison after all 
at: 1/30/03 2:36:30 am
