Disclaimer: Not for profit. S7 as one demented Kitten would like to see it. Angst with a twist.
Rating: M15 Low level sexual references, adult themes, claustrophobia
Blackness. Silence. Then, thought.
“Your shirt…your shirt…your shirt…” What about your shirt? Don’t put it on, not yet, please don’t get dressed. Take it off; let me gaze upon your beautiful breasts once again. Let me rest my head between them, kiss them, caress them, lay my eager tongue against your swelling nipples, let me hear you sigh and moan and beg for more. Take my head in your hands and hold me close. Oh, soft gentle hands. Your shirt…splashed with blood. What’s happening, Willow?
At that, Tara opened her eyes, gasped and tried to lift her head. Her forehead slammed against something firm and she fell back. She lay in total darkness, the only sound her muffled, ragged breathing. She felt about her with her hands and feet. Firm upholstered fabric on every side. The air tasted stale. Where am I?
“Fiat lux,” Tara said quietly, trying to remain calm. She was momentarily blinded even by the gentle blue light she conjured. She looked around her and saw the unmistakeable padded interior of a coffin. She noticed that she was dressed in her finest clothes; pleated skirt, blouse, jacket, stockings and patent leather shoes. Gracious goddess, I’ve been buried alive! What happened to me?
The blonde witch lay back and closed her eyes, fighting the panic rising and threatening to overwhelm her. She slowed her breathing, seeking a semi-trance state to conserve the scant oxygen while she devised a plan. She was unsure if she was capable of digging her way out of the coffin with her bare hands before she suffocated. She had to come up with a way of escaping, quickly.
Gradually, Tara eased herself into the trance state she needed. Her breathing slowed to almost nothing, her heart nearly stopped. Her vision dimmed to a featureless grey. The witch retreated into the calm inner place where she needed to be, to gather her thoughts. Finally settled, she began to think clearly and unhurriedly.
How long she remained in that state, Tara could not say. She carefully sifted through the facts of her situation. Coffin lid, screwed or nailed shut. Six feet of earth to the nearest fresh air on the surface. How compact would it be, how hard to dig through? It depends on how long I’ve been here, rain, temperature, too many factors to consider. A vampire can dig its way out, but they don’t need to breathe on the way. A Slayer can, but Slayers are unnaturally strong. Even with the help of a spell, I doubt if I can get out that way. Too much weight to lift.
Think, Tara, think. What would Willow do? Does that help? Yes! Willow at her computer. Parenthetically, I love sitting beside Willow, just touching her lightly on her arm or back while she works at her computer. She’s so sexy when she’s concentrating, bringing up pages on the screen. Cemetery maps, maps of city services, access tunnels, gas, water, phone, power, catacombs criss-cross the earth beneath Sunnydale, nowhere more so than - in the graveyard itself. To dig sideways or down needs only one-tenth the force that it takes to dig upwards. Swiftly, Tara lifted herself out of the trance. Okay calm now, oh, the air is foul already; steady, reach out with your mind, to the sides, front, behind and down. Hear me spirits of earth and air, guide me now to what I seek.
Tara reached out and divined that there was space and air barely two feet below her and four feet away to one side. Concentrating all of her magical energy, she intoned: “Away,” and pushed out with her palms in the direction she had sensed. The wall of the coffin bulged outwards; there was a sound of rending earth and from a short distance away, there came the heavy thud of falling masonry. Tara pushed against the coffin side; there was still some resistance. She pushed harder, and with a scream of tormented metal and a crackle of splintered wood, the obstacle gave way and Tara found herself staring into blackness. Air rushed in; it was fetid and stale, but compared with what Tara had been breathing, no pine-scented mountain air had ever smelt so sweet.
Sending her tiny blue light ahead, Tara wriggled her way head-first into the hole she had made, pulled herself along through a rough earth tunnel, and dropped into a small stone chamber. She picked herself up, dusted herself down and hugged herself for comfort, shivering with exhaustion and anxiety. She looked around her. It was an old tomb, by the look of the stone sarcophagus in the centre. Dust lay thickly on the floor and the stone walls were black with damp. A narrow flight of stone steps led upwards into blackness. Slowly and carefully, Tara ascended the stairs, towards freedom.
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at: 12/30/02 2:23:52 pm
Maybe?