The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe - Willow & Tara Forever

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 Post subject: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 2:47 pm 
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Joined: Sun Oct 18, 2009 1:53 am
Posts: 230
Topics: 6
Location: somewhere over the rainbow...
Hey kittens!

I don't know if this will be anything much, but I decided to start up my very own short fic thread. I've got some ideas for other fics, so I think (hope) it'll work. If not, here's at least one story I wanted to share with you...


• Title – Portrait of my love
• Author – Mrs. Pineapple aka Helena
• Rating – PG-13
• Disclaimer – I don’t owe anything, all rights to Joss Whedon and ME (damn...)
• Feedback – Yes please!!
• Spoilers – None
• Summary – A magical being makes its way into Willow’s life and changes her forever
• Notes – My second (well, third) serious fic. Big thanks to my beta, Laragh. Enjoy!

Thoughts in italics

*****

Willow let out a big breath as she put down the last box. She had been carrying it up two flights of stairs, and it had done a number on her back. She stretched backwards, frowning slightly as the phrase ‘I’m too old for this’ penetrated her thoughts.

Many times her friends had asked her why in heaven’s name she wanted this place so badly. It was way too big for her to take care of, and she didn’t need that much space anyway. The only reason they could think of was that it was closer to work than the apartment.

Willow looked around the room. She couldn’t really explain why she had wanted the old, Victorian-age house so badly. Her fascination with all things old wasn’t really a good explanation, nor was the location of the house. She knew that the house was too big for her, but despite the very vague plans about hiring out some of the rooms, part of her wanted to keep this place all to herself. She had felt a pull to this place once she had seen the ad in the paper, and her choice had been as good as made after she had come to see the house. It was magnificent.

Willow smiled proudly, wiping the sweat off of her brow. She should start unpacking. It was probably what she liked most about moving: unpacking. To give her own things a place in the still-sterile environment. To make it a place where she felt truly at home. She sighed, nodding resolutely. She looked around the room that was to become her bedroom, and started with plugging in the lamp.

*****

Hours later she fell down in her newly placed sofa, feeling totally exhausted. It had taken her quite some time to unpack the things she absolutely needed to unpack. The furniture had been placed the previous day already, with some help from her friends Buffy and Xander, but what most people called ‘finishing touches’, appeared to be really exhausting.

Looking around the living room, she smiled at the end result. The walls had been painted with a warm peach colour, and the couch and seats had been matched with the room, although Willow couldn’t let go of some things she absolutely wanted there, even though they didn’t fit there at all: the big, bulky cabinet in the corner, her CD rack on her right, and her small stereo hidden in the closet.

All in all she was very happy with the result: it was stylish, yet it gave her a warm feeling. Willow strummed her fingers on the edge of her couch, wondering what she would do next. She felt as if she had done more than enough for today, but she wasn’t tired enough to go to bed already.

A smile brightened her face. For some time now, she had wanted to check out the rooms which she had fleetingly seen when she bought the house. There were so many rooms, Willow couldn’t possibly use them all, but she still had some stuff that needed storage, so it would be best to go look for a place to put it.

Getting up, she stretched once more and took a look around the house, opening doors she hadn’t previously opened. Most of them were alike: small, dark spaces that could really only serve as a room to dump her junk, but one of them was different:

Willow gasped as she opened the door. It was a wide room with high windows, and Willow wondered how she could possibly have missed this. In one corner there was still some junk, probably from the previous owners, and Willow couldn’t help but go check it out.

After a thorough investigation, Willow concluded that the junk had probably been left there on purpose, or because the owners had been too lazy to get it out in time. Willow didn’t complain however, cause y’know, free stuff! she grinned inwardly.

But just as she was about to leave the room, she noticed something: behind a rather large pile of unwanted stuff, there was something hidden. It took her some lifting and dragging, but what she found there astounded her.

A portrait, a huge portrait of a lady had been left right here. Tentatively, Willow traced the canvas, carefully wiping some dust off of the painting. Aside from the fact that the painting was rather big, another thing came to Willow’s mind: the lady in the portrait was beautiful. She never considered herself to be an old-fashioned person, and though she was an anthropologist, she had never really looked up to 19th century women, but this woman...

Willow swallowed. She should call her real estate agent. Tell her the previous owners left something behind. Because although the redhead wouldn’t object to having the portrait, she also got the strangest feeling of being watched by the lady. She shivered. Apparently the ‘Mona Lisa’-effect wasn’t just limited to the Mona Lisa.

Willow crouched in front of the portrait, searching for the name of the painter. But although she could see that there was definitely a name written in the corner, she couldn’t read it properly. She sighed in frustration. She’d call tomorrow. She’d had enough excitement for the day.

*****

Willow woke up feeling slightly disoriented. She had been tossing and turning for a while now, knowing by the lack of light outside that it was still a long time before she should get up, but after humming herself a lullaby and counting what seemed like millions of sheep, she had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon.

She sat up on the bed, rubbing her neck while troubling herself to the clock. She groaned again. It was 3 o’clock. She stood up, having come to the conclusion that she’d get herself some hot milk, the classic remedy against insomnia. Hopefully, sleep would return to her soon.

Stretching, she put on her robe and exited the room. Going down the stairs, she had to remind herself several times that there was no reason why she should by quiet, or why she should leave the light off. It was an old habit, the redhead concluded, even though some light would come in handy in the still unfamiliar house.

She quickly fixed herself some hot milk, adding some honey for flavour, and made her way back up the stairs. But just as she was about to close the door to her room, she noticed something. A door, the door to the room she had only discovered yesterday, was slightly ajar.

Willow frowned. I didn’t leave that open. A million scenarios went through her head. Burglars. A bad lock. Ghosts. The redhead let herself get carried away by her imagination for a moment, but then, she shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she put her mug on a nearby table and walked towards the open door.

The redhead shivered slightly at the creaking sound as she opened the door fully. Taking a few tentative steps inside the room, Willow came to the conclusion that nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. She frowned, wishing for a moment that she had thought of installing the light in this room. Giving in to her curiosity, she ran back to her bedroom to get a flashlight, returning an instant later.

She fumbled a bit with the button before the light came on at last. She shone it across the room, part of her assuming that she probably wouldn’t find anything out of place. But then, she saw it.
She gasped, backing against the wall as her eyes took in something that was surely impossible.

The portrait was empty.

Willow felt like she couldn’t breathe. Surely, it was her eyes playing tricks on her. Maybe it was the light. Maybe she got sick overnight and she was delirious. Her heart was pounding furiously as she regained some strength in her legs. She was shaking as she walked small steps towards the portrait.

The redhead was blinking furiously as she advanced, sure that it couldn’t be right what she was seeing. The painting wasn’t just gone, and it wasn’t just a white canvas either: the lady who she had admired just yesterday, was gone. Everything else, the red curtain in the background, the seat on which she was sitting, was still there.

Willow shook her head, noticing she was beginning to get dizzy. Her first impulse was to run from the house screaming. Instead, she stepped back to the door, deciding to crawl back in bed. The illusion of sleep seemed even further away now, but maybe she would see more clearly in the morning. Maybe she would wake up any moment now, realizing that this was just a bad dream.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath, and she backed out of the room, turning around as she stepped through the door. Closing the door, she leaned against it briefly, momentarily relieved.

When she pushed herself up however, she once again had the shock of her life as she heard someone move in her vicinity. Immediately, she turned on her flashlight again, and pointed it where she had heard the noise.

This time, she did scream.

Right in front of her, stood the lady from the portrait. A real person. A person, who appeared to be just as shocked as Willow. The redhead stumbled backwards, wondering if she had truly gone mad now. At last regaining her vocal chords, she tried to sound as brave as possible.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

For the first time, the lady moved. She turned around slightly, facing the redhead more fully.

“My name is Tara Maclay,” she said, in a haughty voice that suited a lady of standing.

Willow processed this information, realising that she couldn’t do very much with it.

“Well, okay,” she mumbled. “What do you want?” She said, wondering half-heartedly what the hell she was doing.

The lady seemed thrown for a moment, before she answered in the same haughty voice as before: “I have no wish but to dwell in these halls,” she answered.

Willow nodded absently, not knowing why she felt relieved. Resisting the urge to call the police, she carefully advanced towards the stranger. Stopping at a safe distance, she lowered her flashlight a bit, curiously studying her features.

She had recognized the lady as the one in the picture, but the woman standing in front of her seemed a hundred times different. Even in the dark hallway, her blonde hair seemed to shine brighter, her eyes seemed bigger, and her posture more impressive than any picture could copy.

Willow swallowed, and lowered her voice a bit as she asked the next question: “I know I must sound crazy but,” she halted, once again taking in the blonde’s appearance, “are you the lady from the portrait?”

The woman seemed momentarily taken aback, shocked by the redhead’s accurate observation, or perhaps more by the discovery of the portrait. After a few seconds, she lowered her head regretfully. “I am she,” she answered.

Willow frowned, noticing the change in demeanour, and couldn’t help wondering what had caused it. She pushed the thought aside for a moment as she tried to pick out one question out of the swirl of thoughts that were streaming through her mind. “So,” she said, hoping to sound casual, “not meaning to be nosy and all but, this is really my house so I was wondering, how come you’re not in the picture?” She swallowed, cursing herself for her ranting speech.

The blonde seemed mildly amused for a moment, before her expression turned serious once more. “I come to life every night, as I have for 160 years,” she answered.

Willow opened and closed her mouth several times, not really knowing what to say to that. She felt a little intimidated by the woman, creature, being, whatever she is, who had lived here for so long. She sucked in a deep breath, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Trying to calm her frantic brain, she asked the question that seemed the most urgent: “How?”

The lady Tara visibly deflated at the question. “I do not know,” she answered, her eyes lowered to the ground. “For years I have sought the answer, but I still haven’t found it.” She took a deep breath, the recounting of her tale apparently bringing up many unresolved problems. “During the day, when I am in the portrait, I am aware of nothing. It is only when I materialize that I become aware of everything.” She looked up briefly, before lowering her gaze once more. “I am sorry that I have been a nuisance. I will bother you no longer.” She made what appeared to be a curtsy and was about to go away when Willow stopped her.

“No, wait!” She shouted, a little louder than she had intended to. She felt pity for the woman, however strange she might appear. “It’s-” she sighed, searching for the right words. “It’s not a problem, I was just, you know, a little freaked.” She wrung her hands together, her eyebrows lifted in expectation. When it was clear that Tara wouldn’t answer, she continued: “I, I don’t mind you walking around the house, if you want.” She let out a breath, once again wondering what the hell she was doing. “Just as you’re not gonna steal anything, or, you know, go sneaking around my room when I’m sleeping, it’s, it’s fine.” She flapped her hands, hoping that she looked slightly reassuring.

She nodded firmly, more to herself than to the woman, and then started to get to her room. “Well, I’m kinda tired, and I have to work tomorrow, so, goodnight!” She said, rushing herself to get to the confines of her bedroom. She looked back once more, giving the lady a little smile, hesitating one second before she opened her mouth once again. “I’m Willow, by the way.” Then she closed the door behind her. Putting her ear to the door, she deflated slightly as she heard the woman go down the stairs.

On trembling legs she made her way to the bed and sat down heavily. She desperately wanted to think, to make sense of it all, but right now her head was a mess, and she really needed to sleep. She sighed deeply as she lay down, pulling the covers over her body. To her own surprise, sleep came quickly as she found herself to be utterly exhausted.

*****

The next day went by in a flurry of postponed work that had been piling up on her desk over the weekend. It had made Willow slightly disgruntled; she had told her co-workers that she wouldn’t be in this weekend because of her moving places, but apparently, the message hadn’t stuck. But during her lunch-break, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift back to the mysterious woman in her house. When she got up that morning, she had gone back to the room, to find that the woman was indeed back in the painting. She had searched it more extensively this time, looking behind the frame for some hidden message. Unfortunately, she had found nothing.

She didn’t have really much to go on either, apart from the girl’s name. She had searched the internet, including the more specialized search engines she knew from her work as an anthropologist, but she had come up with nothing, apart from some vague references to a ‘Tara Waters’. Her name is Maclay, not Waters! Willow fumed. She’d had to ask the woman, if she ever bumped into her again, which was a definite possibility. Granted, the house was big, and there were plenty of rooms to hide in, but it was, after all, her house.

Feeling slightly crestfallen, she returned to her house after 5. She had a casual 9 to 5 job, and it suited her just perfectly. That way, she had plenty of time to read and write for herself when she came home after work.

Sighing, she dropped her bag on the couch and twiddled with her fingers for a while, taking some time to process the day. Her mind, however, quickly strayed to the picture upstairs. Willow still found it mind-boggling. It would probably take getting used to, she mused, however she never once considered telling anyone about it. She hadn’t even told Buffy and Xander, and she wasn’t about to. Something strange like this, it would spread like wildfire through the city, and the last thing the redhead wanted was for the woman to become some tourist attraction or the object of a scientific study. She wanted to find out as much as she could, but until she knew more, her lips were firmly closed.

Willow sighed again. She’d really like to see it. How the woman came to life. Maybe it would tell her something, possibly how on earth it was possible. Willow considered herself to be a pretty open-minded person, but this... She shook her head in disbelief. And to think that the woman in the painting had been living this way for 160 years, and she still didn’t know how. Willow frowned. Actually, that was a little hard to believe. Maybe the blonde knew more than she was letting through, but Willow wouldn’t push. For some reason, she felt pity for the woman, who had been forced to live this way, hiding in this house for years. She nodded firmly. She wouldn’t push.

Then, a pout appeared on her face. But I really want to see it, she argued with herself. But isn’t that like, rude, watching someone materialize?She wondered. She snorted once more, wondering if there was an etiquette in the case of people who came out of paintings. Maybe it was rude. Like waking up in the morning to find out someone’s been staring at you while you were asleep. Suddenly, she smiled as an idea struck her. Maybe I can be like, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Yep, I didn’t come here to see you at all...” Willow frowned. She should probably leave out that last part.

Then again, she knew nothing about the process of materializing women. She snorted slightly at the thought, which sounded ridiculous even in her own head. She shook her head dismissively, letting her thoughts wander again. She could only assume that the woman–Tara would appear in the same room as painting–Tara, but there was nothing to prove that. Willow groaned. Buffy was right. I should never have bought this house.

*****

Willow felt just a tad bit nervous, and a little naughty as she entered the room of the painting. She had no idea when the lady was gonna come out, but since she went to sleep around ten the previous evening and hadn’t heard anything then, she assumed it had to be later. Glancing around when she came into the room, she affirmed that the lady was still in her portrait. She let out a breath, wiping her hands on her pyjama bottoms. She had made up an alibi for being here, pretending to look for something in the mess of junk left in the room.

Okay, so far, so good, she thought shakily. She only had to make sure to keep her eyes on the portrait so she didn’t miss it accidentally.

In the end, Willow had to wait just ten minutes, but to her, it seemed like hours. Several times she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just leave the lady alone and at peace, but her curiosity always got the better of her.

It started just as a flutter, a slight shift in the atmosphere. It was as if the air became charged somehow, and Willow felt the hairs on her neck stand up. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the windowsill behind her, the only thing that kept her from running like hell. Her eyes went wide as slowly, the features on the painting that once belonged to Tara, dissolved in a white mist. The cloud then seemed to move away from the canvas, constantly changing form and becoming bigger every second. Then suddenly, the cloud stopped moving, and like a mist that slowly unravels itself, the cloud disappeared in thin air, leaving the now 3D form of Tara Maclay.

The blonde’s eyes were closed, and she was standing as still as a statue, but then, she drew a breath: she lifted her face upwards and her eyes opened slowly.

If possible, Willow would have crawled even further in the corner. She was rendered speechless, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly ajar. She had prepared herself that this wouldn’t be like anything she’d ever seen, but her body had trouble catching up with her brain.

Tara seemed, once again, just as shocked as Willow by the looks of it. Once the redhead regained her composure, she rushed to give the blonde an explanation: “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to be here, I just, needed something here, and I didn’t know how or when you’d be here and I’m so sorry if I-“

“Willow.”

Willow’s head shot upwards at the interruption.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” The lady seemed to be caught off guard, Willow noticed. She showed none of the haughty behaviour the redhead had witnessed yesterday. “I don’t mind, really.” The blonde gestured with her hand around the room. “This is your house, it’s your full right to be here.” She tentatively raised her eyes towards the redhead, looking apologetically, and Willow felt something stir inside her. She pointed towards the door, looking at the blonde. “Do you want to get outside? Have something to drink maybe?” She stopped herself as a thought struck her. “Wait. Do you drink at all? Or eat?” She smiled ruefully. “I-I really don’t know much about this.” She was fidgeting nervously as she awaited the answer.

To her surprise, she heard the blonde laugh. She raised her head, her eyes hopeful, as Tara answered: “I can drink or eat if I want to. I don’t have to eat to survive however. I have my time in the portrait to recuperate.”

Willow nodded slowly as she took this in. Deciding she couldn’t process all the information now, nor all the questions that came with it, she tentatively started to walk to the door. “Shall we then?” She asked, uncertain. She saw the blonde grin once more as she followed in her wake.

As they entered the kitchen Willow hurried to boil some water, find some teacups and try to make the blonde more comfortable. Tara had taken a chair beside the kitchen table, and Willow thanked Xander that he had reminded her to buy two chairs instead of one (“Just in case you have a lady-friend over”).

Willow felt a little awkward as she poured some tea in the cups and motioned to Tara to drink it. “Do you need something with it?” She asked nervously. “Sugar, honey, milk? Ooh, I think I have some cookies somewhere.” And she quickly dived into her box of groceries. A couple of second later, she resurfaced with three boxes. “So, do you want Oreos, Chocolate chip or Pretzels?” She asked, only to be confronted with a slightly perplexed Tara. Willow nearly slapped herself. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you don’t know that stuff. It’s kinda hard not to think in 21st-century terms.” She offered a little smile, hoping that Tara would understand.

Miraculously, Tara managed a little smile. “Some sugar would be nice,” she answered timidly.

Willow discarded the cookies and sat down on the opposite side of the kitchen table. There were a few moments of awkward silence, in which they both quietly nursed their tea, before Willow spoke up once more. “So...” She hesitated. “I’m sorry that I’m constantly asking you questions, but I’m just really curious: who painted your portrait?” She bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t touched a painful or inappropriate subject.

She winced slightly as she saw Tara swallow audibly. She rushed to reassure: “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I just...” She trailed off as Tara answered her question, her gaze lowered to the table.

“Basil Hallward,” she said. Willow frowned, never having heard of the name. As if Tara had read her mind, she continued: “He was a pretty known painter in my time. He almost exclusively painted portraits, even though he had been commissioned to do other things several times.” She sighed, her expression pained. “He was a genius. The painting of my portrait would be his downfall.”

Willow saw the blonde slipping, and in a extremely bold moment, she tentatively reached out towards Tara’s hand on the kitchen table. The blonde looked up, startled. Willow gave her a small, apologetic smile, squeezing her hand before letting go. “Do you, want to tell me?” She asked, her eyes understanding.

Tara let out a shaky breath, before nodding once. Her hands were shaking as she placed them back in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she started: “I had been married for 5 years when the painting was made. My husband’s name was Richard Waters, and I loved him dearly.” Willow drew a sharp breath, suddenly understanding why she’d only found references to ‘Tara Waters’.
“Unfortunately, after five years of marriage, disaster struck,” Tara continued. She lifted her eyes to Willow’s, and the redhead could see tears swimming there.

“I was dying,” the blonde said. “I had just been diagnosed with consumption.” She sniffled. “I would have exactly four months to live.” She let out a breath, having breached the painful subject. Willow wanted to take her hand again, give her a hug, but there was nothing that seemed appropriate. Besides that, she didn’t know if the blonde would hold it if she did that, and she desperately wanted to hear the rest of her story.

“It was then that my husband commissioned the painting,” Tara said. “He said he wanted something to remember me by, and that only the best would do.” She sniffled once more, taking some time to take another sip of tea to moisten her vocal cords. “So I met Basil Hallward,” she sighed. “After he was finished, I nearly broke down.” She looked down once more, pain etched on her face. “It was then when I... Expressed a wish,” she said.

She lifted her head, looking Willow in the eye. “I wished that I would be like the portrait, because it would always watch over the ones I loved,” she said, her voice shaking. She shook her head, looking utterly miserable. “If I would’ve known what those words would do to me, I would have happily died right there.”

Willow listened, her heart crying at the obvious pain of the blonde. It was obvious that she had seldom, if ever, shared this story with anyone. She wondered if previous house owners knew anything about the magic creature in their house. She assumed not, and for some reason, she was grateful for that. The idea that this was the first time that Tara told her story, didn’t seem to be a burden, but a privilege to Willow. So she kept her mouth shut and listened.

“Four months later, my heart stopped beating,” Tara continued, her voice raw. “I didn’t know, how it happened, or when, but.” She paused, trying to find the words. “The night of my funeral I came out of the painting for the first time.” She regarded Willow for a second. “I was terrified.”

Willow’s eyebrows came together in sympathy. I bet, she thought. “I was so scared I ran to Richard immediately, who thought I was a ghost.” She shrugged. “So did I, actually, until I saw the empty painting.” The blonde took a deep breath, pausing once more to drink her tea. “We searched endlessly for an explanation, but we couldn’t come up with anything.” Tara shook her head in reminiscence. “The only thing I remembered was my wish, but I couldn’t believe I had been heard somehow.” She gave Willow a small smile. “Richard didn’t tell anyone, and we got used to it. I remember being so happy. Now I could watch over him every night. We made a vow not to question it, and just be happy.”

But once again, her voice turned serious. “How wrong we were...” She trailed off once again, wracking her brain for words. “Time went by, and what appeared to be a blessing, became a curse.” She wiped her nose distractedly. “Richard grew older, while I stayed young and beautiful, like how I had been, posing for the portrait.” She sniffled distractedly. “Richard became bitter. He cursed my youth, and I learned not to show my affections anymore.” She closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, but Willow could tell how hard it was. “One night, Basil came to the house unexpectedly. When he found out I was still alive h-he...” She pursed her lips, forcing herself to continue. “He demanded an explanation, which we couldn’t give. He couldn’t understand why we hadn’t told him.” Her voice was shaking, and Willow had the hardest time trying to hold her distance. “H-he and Richard started fighting, and Richard, h-h-he... He killed him.”

At that point, Tara broke down in tears, and Willow couldn’t hold herself any longer. Kneeling in front of the blonde, she took the shaking hands in her own and drew soothing patterns with her thumbs. Regaining her composure, Tara finished her story.

“The police came to collect Richard the next day. He had asked me to come clean, to rescue him, but I refused.” Tara averted her eyes. “When he killed Basil, he killed my love too.” She swallowed. “I couldn’t love a murderer.”

It was silent for a long time after that, as Tara bit back an occasional sob and Willow just sat there in front of her, offering silent support. She had no idea as to what to say to the blonde. She couldn’t imagine the pain she had been through, and for so long she had no-one to turn to, being too afraid to show herself. Willow felt her heart swell with compassion for the woman. From that moment, she silently vowed to herself to be a companion to the blonde, so she could finally have a friend after years of isolation.

Finally, the redhead spoke: “I’m so sorry.” She felt inadequate saying it, knowing that her words could never take away the terrible grief, the loss of love, and who knew what hardship Tara had to go through after that.

The blonde sniffled. “It’s o-okay,” she said, a pained smile on her face. “It’s been the first time someone has ever listened to me in 160 years,” she said, and Willow smiled in response. “I do feel a little better right now,” she nodded.

Willow smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said softly. Noticing her knees were starting to hurt, she stood up, regretfully letting go of Tara’s hands. “You know,” she said hesitantly. “If you ever, feel like you want to tell me something, anything,” she assured. “Just tell me?” She asked, looking Tara in the eye. “I want you to feel like you can tell me stuff, you know?” She said. Tara nodded, and this time, she was smiling. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it warmed Willow’s heart. “Thank you,” she said with the utmost sincerity. “You have been very kind.”

Willow smiled at Tara once more with extraordinary warmth.

*****

Over the next couple of weeks, the two girls got slowly used to each other’s presence. Mostly, they only spoke when they ran into each other in the hallway. They usually just made some small talk and left it at that. Willow didn’t go into Tara’s room again when she materialized, but kept her distance. Still, she offered Tara the use of every room she might want to see, including her newly installed library on the second floor. Since then she would often find Tara there, engrossed in one of her volumes. It warmed Willow’s heart.

All in all, things were going well. Since Tara had told her story they hadn’t had any very intimate conversation, and Willow liked to keep it that way. She was still very busy getting settled, and she silently assumed that Tara still had to recover from her honest confession to the redhead. Willow treated Tara like a roommate, with polite conversation, but no pushing. The only thing she had really done for the blonde was to fix her up with some new clothes, because “wearing the same dress 24/7 can’t really feel good”. Tara had grudgingly agreed. It had been very hard to convince the blonde that it was okay for a girl to wear pants however, so she just stuck with a nightgown, which suited her just fine.

They had kept that same routine for about three weeks, when one night, Willow heard a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” she said. She had been doing some late night work, sitting up in bed with her laptop resting on her thighs.

There was a small silence, before the door opened and Tara shuffled inside in her nightgown, and Willow smiled at the sight. She lowered the lid of her laptop for a moment, frowning. The blonde was pacing around the room, clearly nervous about something. Finally, she stood still, looking at the redhead.

“You must tell me more about this 21st century you mentioned,” she said. She waved with her arms, clearly agitated. “I have found much pleasure in reading your books, but sometimes, I have no idea what’s being said.” She regarded Willow with pleading eyes.

It struck the redhead then, that Tara had spent more than a century in isolation, not knowing what was going on in the outside world. She had missed so many things that Willow took for granted, and the redhead realized how frustrating it must be for the blonde. She swallowed.

“Okay,” she said, hesitating slightly. “Well, what do you want to know?” She asked, uncertain how to begin with this. Once more, Tara gestured wildly with her arms. “Anything you want to tell me,” she said. “I quite lost track of the world’s history after Richard left.” Willow was pleased to note that there were no longer tears in her eyes at the mention of the man.

Once again, the blonde looked Willow in the eyes. “Just, tell me anything.”

That was the start of ’21 101’, a course put together by Willow, telling Tara everything she thought was important to know when you lived in the 21st century. Tara was astonished many times as she learned of the first and second world war, the landing on the moon and the invention of mass communication. Willow tried to go easy on her though, knowing it must be tough for the blonde to wrap her head around it all. But all in all, she was doing great, and the redhead found that she immensely enjoyed the time she spent with the blonde. Tara was starting to really open up to her, and Willow told her some things about her own life now and again. She was surprised every time by how much she liked it.

She just hoped that there wouldn’t be any unwanted surprises.

****

“And tonight, in 21 101...” Willow spoke with a deep voice. She paused a moment for dramatic tension and then changed the paper on her flip-over board. “The feminist revolution!” She crowed.
Tara applauded, giggling. They were in Willow’s bedroom. Tara was sitting on the bed in her night gown while Willow stood in front of it with her flip-over board. She used it often for work, but since it was a great way to teach the blonde, it had changed places. On the flip-over was now a large paper on display spelling ‘The feminist revolution’.

Willow grinned at the blonde before starting her lesson. “So the feminist revolution took place in two big waves: during the first wave in the beginning of the 20th century women started to free themselves of their traditional role as a housewife, and they fought for a woman’s right to vote. The second wave, which took place in the 1960s, focused on discrimination and on cultural, social, and political issues, so it’s mainly thanks to those women that we have female politicians. Any questions?” She asked, her grin wide and her eyes sparkling.

Tara smiled broadly, diligently taking notes. It made Willow’s heart swell a little, knowing how valuable this information must be for the blonde, and how grateful she was to Willow for doing this. During the five months they had known each other now, Tara had learned so much about the modern world, and Willow noticed more and more that she started to look like she had never known anything different. Her way of talking, her more spontaneous demeanor...

Unfortunately, as Tara learned more about the present, Willow felt more and more guilty about keeping her friend a secret to the outside world. No matter how many times Tara told her she didn’t mind, the redhead always felt like she should at least tell her friends about the blonde. Then Tara would make new friends, and she wouldn’t just hear about the people Willow kept rambling about.

The only reason she could think of for her secrecy, was that she felt protective of the blonde. It was one thing to theoretically learn about the 21st century, but to live in it... That was a whole different matter. Besides that there was of course the matter of the portrait.

“So no, question?” Willow asked after a short pause. Tara shook her head, still smiling. “Okay. In many ways the second wave was far more radical than the first. Women became more extreme in their ways of expressing what they wanted. Sometimes they even tried to ban any male influence in their lives, by becoming single mothers, or they ‘turned’ gay solely for political reasons.” Willow stopped as Tara timidly raised her hand. “Yes?” Willow asked.

“What does ‘gay’ mean?” Tara asked, her brow furrowed. Willow smiled and spoke in a deep voice once again, attempting to imitate a TV presenter. “And we have arrived at fun fact number 56!” She said, continuing in her regular voice. “The term ‘gay’ is a word that indicates your sexuality. When you’re ‘straight’ it means that you are solely attracted to and/or can fall in love with the opposite sex. When you’re identified as ‘gay’ it means that you only fall in love with the same sex. I believe they called it ‘queer’ in your time,” Willow added for good measure.

Tara nodded in comprehension, but her frown deepened. Sensing that something was wrong, Willow reacted: “What?” She asked. Tara opened her mouth, then closed it. After hesitating a few seconds, she spoke up. “Was that, you know, accepted?” She asked. “I mean, isn’t that a bit radical? Trying to fight for women’s rights doesn’t mean you should pretend like-” she gestured to Willow, referring to what she had just explained. “- you know, you love women?”

Willow frowned. “Well, yes, it’s pretty radical, but that’s what it was all about, see?” She pointed out. “Besides,” she added, trying to sound nonchalant. “Is it so weird to fall in love with someone of your own sex?” When Tara’s eyebrows shot up, she quickly elaborated: “I mean, those feminists did it just for political purposes, but nowadays its’ really not that weird that two men or two women fall in love with each other.” She shrugged, trying to keep her tone light. “In the western world, it’s pretty much accepted.”

The redhead watched Tara with a pained expression, not willing to admit how hurt she would be if Tara disapproved of this. Willow knew Tara came from a strict social environment, where queerness wasn’t accepted at all (at least not publicly). The redhead just hoped that Tara would be able to let go of those beliefs, and truly accept that gays and lesbians weren’t under a taboo anymore.

The blonde nodded slowly, thoughts clearly swirling through her head. Trying to convince Tara completely, Willow added: “Actually, gay marriage is legalized in most American states and in most European countries.”

To Willow’s horror, however, Tara seemed positively appalled by the idea. “Really?” She asked, trying to contain her incomprehension. “I mean, can two women really marry?”

The redhead cleared her throat awkwardly. She was starting to feel slightly annoyed with the blonde. During most of her lessons, Tara had seemed very open and accepting about the modern world, but for some reason, she couldn’t get this in her head. Anger was starting to boil inside the redhead. “Well, what’s so wrong about that?” She asked, her voice coming out louder than she had intended. “If two people love each other, why shouldn’t they be able to commit to each other legally? I mean, why would you be treated any different just because you happen to love girls instead of guys?” Willow paused, drawing a shaky breath, when suddenly, she realized she was crying.

When Tara saw the tear streaks on Willow’s face, she immediately got off the bed and enveloped the redhead in a hug. She felt terrible. After everything Willow had done for her, she just couldn’t seem to accept something that was clearly very important to her. Lightly caressing the redhead’s back, she resolved not to bring it up anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, unintentionally mimicking Willow’s words all those months ago, when she had been in tears. She felt again a stab of guilt as she realized that this time, it was she who had caused Willow’s pain, in opposition to hers back then.

Willow drew back, discretely wiping her nose. She felt a bit silly for reacting so emotionally, but for some reason Tara’s disapproval felt like a rejection to her. The redhead gave Tara a little smile. “No, its’ okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have...” She trailed of, sighing. She didn’t really know how to say this.

Sensing this, Tara gently took Willow’s hand. “How about we call it a night?” She said, leading Willow to her bed. The redhead let herself be tucked in, but she still felt bad. She looked up at Tara with watery eyes. “Hold me?” She pleaded.

The blonde felt her heart break for Willow. Not hesitating for a second, she climbed up at the other side of the bed and spooned Willow from behind. She held back for a moment, but then she slowly put her arm around Willow’s waist, feeling the redhead cover the arm with her own. She sighed.

After a moment of blessed silence, Willow spoke up. “Tara?” She craned her neck, looking back to the blonde behind her. “Mmm?” Tara asked in reply. Willow moved to lie on her back, holding the blonde’s hand to her tummy. “I’m sorry I haven’t told my friends about you yet,” she said apologetically. Foreseeing the blonde’s protest, she quickly continued. “I mean, it seems kinda weird that you know all about them and they don’t know you.” She paused a moment, looking Tara pointedly in the eye. “I just, Buffy and Xander and I, we have this really close circle, and, I really want you to meet them, but...” She trailed off, her heart beating in her chest. She was really doing this. “I really like having something that’s just – you know – mine?” She looked at Tara once more, pleading with her eyes. Pleading that she’d understand.

Tara felt her heart swell at the redhead’s heartfelt admission. Her eyebrows came together in sympathy, and she absently tucked a strand of hair behind Willow’s ear. “I do,” she said honestly.
They looked into each other’s depths for a long time, hearts pounding. It was a naked, honest moment, and it shook them both completely.

Finally, Willow sighed and she turned back on her side, keeping Tara’s arm firmly around her waist. She hadn’t noticed before, but she felt utterly exhausted. Squirming a little, she at last got comfortable and closed her eyes.

Tara watched her with a melancholic smile. She wanted nothing more than kiss Willow’s cheek, the crown of her head, and slide her finger through silk hair, but she refrained herself. Looking at Willow, she felt her body fill with warmth she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Hesitantly, she pulled the redhead closer, laying her head down on the pillow behind Willow and smelling her hair. She sighed. With shaking fingers, she again pushed a strand of hair behind Willow’s ear.

“I am you know,” she said quietly, half of her hoping Willow was already asleep. Her heart picked up in speed. “What?” She heard the redhead say, as she started rubbing her thumb over Willow’s stomach.

Feeling extremely bold, Tara placed a featherlike kiss behind the redhead’s ear.

“Yours.”

She felt, rather than heard Willow sigh as she burrowed closer to the blonde. She didn’t answer, and half a minute later, Tara concluded that Willow was asleep.

Pushing herself up, she propped her head up on her elbow, silently watching her redheaded friend. She felt a squeeze in her heart and she closed her eyes. She still felt terrible for upsetting Willow. Even more so, because the reason for her doubt was something entirely personal. After all the time she had spent with the lovely redhead, she started to notice things about Willow. Small things, like the way she moved, or how her fingers played with her teacup, impatiently waiting for it to cool down. The way her tongue poked between her teeth when she heard something funny, or how her brow scrunched up when she was confused.

It bothered Tara, because not only did she notice those things, but they did something to her.
They made her smile. Willow, made her smile.

She didn’t want to think about how good it felt to just hold Willow right now, knowing that she would be gone in the morning. She closed her eyes, and felt a tear slip down her cheek.
This couldn’t be happening. After Richard had left, she had sworn she would never love again, to protect her fragile heart. But now... Tara shook her head, not even wanting to think it.

She laid her head back down, and deeply inhaled Willow’s scent. She couldn’t let this happen. Tara sighed even as she buried her head in the red tresses. Not if it was up to her.

*****

When she woke up the next morning, Willow felt cold. She sleepily turned on her other side and realized with a pang that that’s where Tara had been. Sighing, she took the pillow and deeply inhaled, hoping it would still carry the blonde’s scent. She stretched languidly, and sat up, her feet touching the ground. Almost on automatic, she walked out of the room, padding to the other end of the hall, and opened the door.

As she entered the room, she felt a tear come to her eyes. There she was. Tara in her portrait, as beautiful as ever. But nothing more than a memory. Kneeling in front of the painting, Willow traced the blonde’s contours with a single finger, wishing she was touching the real Tara.

She couldn’t deny it; she liked the blonde. More than she could possibly say, and definitely more than Tara would be comfortable with. Their conversation last night was proof of that. Willow stood up again, feeling utterly helpless. But then again, if Tara disapproved of gay relationships, why would she have agreed to hold her Willow?

Willow’s shoulders sagged. She just wanted to comfort you, you dummy. There was nothing between them, and Willow knew it. She had to get over this, this what? She wondered. Do I have a crush on Tara? She shook her head. Crushes were moments of craziness, but they disappeared as quickly as they appeared. What she felt for the blonde was something that had been growing inside her for months, and she couldn’t deny it anymore.

She crossed her arms over her tummy, feeling suddenly queasy. She wouldn’t allow this. If she wanted to protect herself from heartbreak, she had to get over this. She was responsible for Tara. She wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.

*****

The next week was aggravating for the both of them. Now they were slowly starting to acknowledge their feelings towards the other, being around each other was becoming increasingly awkward. Willow tried to keep up their nightly study sessions, but it was getting hard, as she felt like she couldn’t be spontaneous with the blonde anymore, and she avoided topics that just might cause tension between the two.

Strangely, the more awkward it got, the more they felt drawn to each other. Maybe because the tension between them wasn’t of an entirely innocent nature. Willow caught herself many times as her eyes strayed towards the blonde’s chest, and Tara often blushed bright red as she caught herself staring at Willow’s ass.

All in all their interactions were strained, their laughter forced and they encountered an awkward silence more than ever.

Which is exactly why, a week later, Tara didn’t show. Willow was sitting in the windowsill in her bedroom and looked outside gloomily. Tara was avoiding her. And she could hardly blame her. She wondered if she should just stop with their lessons all together. She had told Tara what she had wanted to tell her, and to be honest, before things got awkward, she had just been searching for topics as an excuse to spend some time the blonde.

Willow sighed. But now...

And besides, what was the point? Tara couldn’t go outside, because she could online go a certain distance away from the portrait, and she would live like this forever. Willow would move away eventually, and Tara would sulk in the shadows once more, and the world would move on mercilessly.

Willow sat down on her bed, pained. What she didn’t understand was why Tara was still alive in the first place. The blonde had told her she had wanted to be ‘like’ the portrait to watch over her loved ones, but they had been gone for some time now.

During the rare moments of intimate conversation, Tara had told Willow that, when Richard had been taken away, she had tried to kill herself. She had taken a lethal poison, and just laid down on her bed, waiting for death to come. Only it hadn’t. Tara had concluded at the time that it probably was like food: she didn’t need it, so she wasn’t affected by it either.

Willow wondered with pain in her heart how someone, who in many ways stood so far from humanity, could be so human. Can feel so human.

She sighed, looking around her room restlessly. She wondered where Tara was. She was afraid to go out there, and Tara probably felt the same. Willow frowned. This is ridiculous. They were bound to run in to each other one moment or another, and if she put this off for much longer, it would be much more awkward than it already was.

She had to tell Tara something. Had to give her some semblance of an explanation, why things had been so strained between them. They would have to have this conversation sooner or later.
And in Willow’s mind, it’d better be sooner than later.

She nodded resolutely, standing up. She noticed that her legs were shaking slightly, and once again she wondered if she was really going through with this. Balling her fists, she put up her resolve face. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

Willow didn’t have to look long, as she found the blonde right across the hall, in the room where she had stayed for so many years. Opening the door hesitantly, Willow saw Tara sitting in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked like she’d been crying.

For good measure, Willow rapped her knuckles against the open door. Tara looked up, and Willow felt a guilty pang as she saw her teary eyes. “Hey,” she said quietly.“ She pointed towards the door. “Can I come in?” Tara answered with a short, curt nod. Willow closed the door behind her, and stood there for a while, not really sure how to do this. Tara was once again looking at the floor, and Willow noticed that her legs were shaking, too.

The redhead sighed and moved forwards slowly. Halting for a moment, she at last plunked down against the opposite wall, which wasn’t that far away considering the room’s width. She looked to the floor, fidgeting with the seam of her pyjama pants.

For what seemed like hours, they stayed liked that, in complete silence.

At last, Willow dared to look up, to find Tara staring at her intently. Willow held eye contact, and she didn’t look away. The blonde opened her mouth once or twice, but didn’t speak.
When she finally did speak, it was almost too soft to hear.

“I’m sorry.”

Willow smiled softly, having expected that this was what Tara would say. Always apologising.

The redhead looked her in the eye for a moment, and was relieved when Tara didn’t avert her gaze. “It’s okay,” she whispered. She lowered her gaze again. “I didn’t really know what to tell you anymore, anyway.”

She looked up, hoping the joke would alleviate some of the tension, but she wasn’t lucky. Tara was again looking at the floor, a frown adorning her face. The redhead bit her lip. “I...” She took a breath, before trying again. “What’s wrong?” She asked, resolved to use as few words as possible. She didn’t want her confession to come out in a hurried babble, and when she used long sentences, babbles were never far away. Especially when she was nervous.

Tara shook her head distractedly, as if she was talking to herself in her head. She stretched out her legs and crossed her arms in front of her. Willow sighed. This wasn’t going good at all.

Realizing that Tara was probably not very open to conversation tonight, Willow got up and made her way out of the room. But just as she was going to step outside, a voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned around, and she saw that Tara was now standing, still nervous and still cowering in the corner, but standing. She drew a breath. “C-can we talk in your room?” She asked. Willow nodded. “Sure,” she said for good measure.

She didn’t wait for Tara to join her, but made her way back to her room, taking a fleeting look outside, before turning towards the blonde who had just come in. Willow leaned against the window, arms crossed, and she waited for Tara to speak.

After hovering in the doorway for some time, Tara closed the door and walked towards Willow, keeping some distance between them. When another moment of awkward silence fell between them, Willow felt her well-hidden frustration starting to boil over. Throwing her hands in the air, she addressed the blonde. “Look, is it me?” She asked, her voice laced with bitterness. “Cause you can just tell me, okay? I can take it.”

Tara spoke up quickly. “N-n-no!” She managed to get out. “No, it’s me, it’s...” She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Hesitating for a second, Willow joined her, still keeping some distance between them.

The blonde looked at Willow with teary eyes. “Ever since last w-week I’ve b-been off,” she said, her speech blurry. Willow’s forehead scrunched up. “What do you mean, off?” She asked silently. Tara shrugged, sniffling. “I just, I never, I...” She trailed off, trying to find words. She gazed at Willow with red-rimmed eyes. “I’d sworn I’d never let it get this far, again, but I just, I c-couldn’t s-stop it,” Tara said, stuttering through her tears.

“What do you mean?” Willow repeated, her heart picking up in pace as she took in the blonde’s words. Tara looked into Willow’s eyes again.

“I mean I like you, Willow!” She cried. “And I’d sworn I’d never do this to myself again, but I just couldn’t help it.” She sniffed loudly. “But I really, really like you, and I just don’t know what to do with myself.” She averted her eyes, ashamed, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Willow sucked in a deep breath at the revelation, half of her not believing what she heard. She stayed rigid, her body still processing everything, before she shook her head to wake herself up.
Tara was sitting beside her, weeping her eyes out. She couldn’t let that happen.

Carefully, Willow inched her fingers up on the blonde’s knee. She squeezed it gently, and Tara looked up. “Hey,” Willow said, and this time, she was smiling. She tenderly put a strand of hair behind Tara’s ear. “Did you honestly think I’d be mad at you?” She asked sweetly, keeping her hand behind the blonde’s ear. Tara looked down again, shrugging dismissively.

Willow sighed, putting her hands on either side of Tara’s head, forcing her to look up. “Sweetie, in every other scenario, I’d probably have been flattered.” Tara frowned, not understanding. “What do you mean?” She said, echoing Willow’s words.

The redhead laughed joyously. “It means I like you, doofus!” She said, caressing the blonde’s cheekbones. “I just assumed you’d never like me ‘that way’, because you were kinda strange about the whole ‘gay’ thing.” She said, gently wiping Tara’s tears away. Tara’s eyes were wide with amazement, and after a moment, she launched herself in the redhead’s arms, hugging her tightly.

Willow laughed again, tenderly stroking the blonde’s hair as she revelled in their connection. She pulled back slightly to address Tara. “I love you, Tara, I just never had the guts to say it.”

And with that, she looked Tara in the eye, silently asking for permission. The blonde was way ahead of her, however, intently staring at her lips while moistening her own. Willow felt her face drop, till they were only a breath apart.

Slowly, their lips slid together, creating an electrical shock they felt throughout their bodies. They held each other by the arms, clutching tightly as if the other would pull away if they didn’t. Getting over the paralysing shock, Willow took the initiative to start moving her lips. She felt Tara inhale sharply, but instantly reacting a second later. Tentatively, their lips began a dance they would soon learn and perfect. Willow groaned as she relaxed in the kiss and reached her arms across Tara’s waist, pulling her closer. The blonde moaned and pushed the redhead flat on the bed, momentarily dislodging their lip lock.

Giggling, they resumed their smooching session, caressing each other tenderly. Over the night, touches got bolder and their kisses deepened. Their motions became passionate and before they knew it, they were making love to each other. It was new, it was wonderful, and it blew their minds. But most of all – it was love.

*****

Sun was slowly creeping through the curtains, and Willow was desperately trying to cling to the last vestiges of sleep. She snuggled even further under the blankets, when she noticed something strange. A shape. She turned around and gasped loudly as she saw Tara Maclay in sunlight for the first time. She was sleeping peacefully, not aware of anything strange.

Willow looked around, bewildered, as she with renewed fascination noticed that she was naked, and so was Tara. Slowly, the events of last night came creeping back, and Willow smiled dopily, not remembering when she had ever been so love struck. She let her mind wander for awhile, before returning to the question before her. Tara was in her bed, sleeping soundly, while morning had arrived probably hours ago.

Feeling the need to do something, Willow got up, careful not to disturb Tara in her sleep. Snatching a robe, she marched off to the room she knew so well by now. Opening the door, she gasped for the second time this morning. Another Tara was looking at her from the painting, the same Tara Willow had found on her first day here. “But how...?” Willow muttered, not understanding.

She put her hands on her hips and bit her lip, going over everything she knew about Tara.

Her eyes widened. They widened even further. And now, a smile was tugging at her lips, which grew to encompass her whole face. She practically sprinted back to the bedroom, where she found a thoroughly confused Tara.

“Willow?” She asked, distractedly scratching her head. Willow shed her robe and practically leapt on the bed, crawling to Tara’s side and looking her in the eye.

“Do you love me?” She asked, although it didn’t sound like a question. Tara frowned. “Of course I love you, Will, why do you ask that?” She asked, but even as she just finished her sentence, Willow’s lips were covering hers in a passionate lip lock.

When she pulled back minutes later, her eyes were wide with excitement. “Tara, baby, when you made your wish all those years ago, you wished to watch over the ones you loved, right?” She said, looking deeply into blue eyes.

“Y-yes,” Tara said, as the clue began to sink in. “But, Willow, do you really-“

“Well of course I really!” Willow cried out, happy like never before. “When you made that wish you never knew that you would love someone centuries later, but you do!” She grasped Tara’s face with her hands. “And now you’re here, and your portrait is just a portrait again, and I am so, so happy,” she sighed, tears of joy running down her face.

A slow smile made its way across Tara’s face as the words sunk in. Tenderly, she hugged the redhead. “It’s almost like a fairytale,” she said. Willow smiled in return. “It is,” she answered.
She regarded Tara for a few moments, lightly caressing her face. “And you know what that means, right?” She asked. Tara shrugged. “What?” She asked.

“Our forever after begins now. “ Willow said, and nothing could possibly beat the smile from her face.

*****
THE END

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 4:19 pm 
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2. Floating Rose

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I loved this story it was amazing. Falling in love stories are the best. You have a wonderful way with words. Keep writing more please.


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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 4:57 pm 
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That was amazing!
I certainly hope you add to this thread :D.
so sweet, funny, full of love, just how a fic should be :D:D

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 6:38 pm 
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Aw, very sweet. I look forward to reading more shorts!

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 6:39 pm 
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This was too cute. I loved it so much!!! Are you going to write more? I loved the characterization of Tara as an old-timey broad. :D

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 6:46 pm 
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Wow. This was really good. Please, for the sake of humanity, keep writing.


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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 12:58 am 
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I love fairytales, and this one was just perfect.

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 5:34 am 
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Wow - that was one amazing story. I loved it so much. I was simply enthralled with the whole thing, and was actually wishing there would be more to it.

Great job, please give us more.


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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 7:20 am 
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Hey, Helena!

Magical, fascinating, romantic - I LOVED this story!

Both of them true, yet an entirely fresh look at their relationship.

You've done it again - brilliant!

Ariel


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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 9:55 am 
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This was great!! Really captivating story. I loved it!! :clap

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
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Wow...this was more like a BIG treat!! Great fic...very original:) Please keep them coming!!

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Wed Dec 08, 2010 5:27 am 
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I really enjoyed that story. I have to admit that as I read I kept expecting the chapter to end and then I'd have to wait for another installment but instead it came to completion. You did an excellent job of exposition, then showing their growing relationship, then their growing love, and finally the upset and then make up/make love of the last part. Very adorable.

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Thu Dec 09, 2010 3:41 pm 
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7. Teeny Tinkerbell Light
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That was great! So sweet and they're both perfectly in character - loved the happy ending!

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Sun Dec 12, 2010 5:35 pm 
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1. Blessed Wannabe
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This was absolutely adorable! It brought a much needed smile to my face. I especially loved the beginning when Willow first realized Tara had disappeared from the portrait. Very eerie! I hope you decide to add more short stories here, I enjoyed this one so much!

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 Post subject: Re: Little Treats by Mrs. P
PostPosted: Mon Dec 13, 2010 5:23 am 
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19. Yummy Face
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Wow! A really great story...

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