Fractured Fairy Tales entry
My story for willshenilshe's ficathon. For eurydice72, loosely based on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Thanks to tesla321 for beta reading and support.
Tara, Willow, Wesley. Not my characters, no money made, blah blah you know the drill. Author’s notes at the end.
No Happy Omens
Endlessly she sits there, mute as stone, small and red and lost. I don't remember what she was looking for, really, but the shades whisper it was me. Maybe it was me, but I don't remember why.
Yet she seems so familiar, this slight red girl.
I think I am angry with her.
Yes, I think so. I think I was very angry with her, once. I don't remember anymore. She won't let me leave, though, and I am tired of this place. Why won't she let me leave? I don't like it here.
I have things to do. Places to go.
What is time? I think time mattered, once. The shades are always restless, but the newer ones seem to fret more over this time. Something about counting, maybe? I don't understand it. I think the girl was worried about time, once, but now it doesn't seem to bother her. She just sits there, looking dull and glassy-eyed, and doesn't bother trying to talk to me anymore.
It was confusing when she tried to talk to me, like she was screaming nonsense across a vast canyon, strings of words tossed out with no meaning behind them. She tried to touch me, too. I don't think she understood there is no touching here. Not for someone like her.
Not that there is anyone else like her here.
Maybe she's lonely?
I am lonely. Why won't she let me go home? I don't think I would be lonely there. I think there's someone waiting for me. Sometimes I can just barely make out the edges of her, work-worn hands and a plain, clean apron. A warm smile that doesn't look tired anymore. She holds out her hands to me and there is a brightness all around her, but I cannot follow. The girl will not let me follow.
She may be lost here, but she is so strong...
I do not understand this time, but I think a lot of it goes by before the man arrives.
He is dark and hard and frightens all the shades, causing a terrible disturbance. I do not like this place, but there is no need to disturb them so, is there? I do not think I like this hard man.
He waves an object in each hand. They are smoking and occasionally emit a loud noise, though they injure no one. They look familiar to me, and I do not like them, do not like them, and the shades are wailing and I wish he would put them away. My chest hurts.
He goes to the girl, shakes her until she looks at him with wide, shocked eyes, and speaks to her urgently. His lips move but the words are like hers, spoken in another language, nonsense. He tells her nonsense.
She shakes her head and gestures and I am seized with terror, for she has not forgotten me.
The man glowers but she will not follow him, so he darts a furtive glance around and whispers something in her ear, putting away the noise makers. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. The girl beams and throws her arms around him. They begin to speak again, rapidly, chanting more nonsense as they hold hands.
The shades are frightened, so frightened, and they swirl and howl in pain. I want to cover my ears but I cannot move, and everything is loud and bright and harsh and there is a popping in my head and I can hear them.
I can understand what they say.
The girl drops the rough man's hands and dashes towards me, touching my shoulder and her hand doesn't go through me. She smiles and cries and kisses me, and she keeps saying Tara, her fingers folded around mine.
Willow? I ask, and she nods.
Quickly or not at all, the man urges as he takes Willow's other hand. And remember,
don't
look
back.
And we are running, and he is pulling her and she is pulling me and the shades are pulling at us, too, trying to keep us here but I do not like it here so I run.
We run forever, the man pulling us, the shades chasing us, until there is a glimmer ahead that grows into an entrance. Willow's hand trembles in mine, and I feel... I feel. I remember things about myself, about her, about the world that waits on the other side and I am excited and afraid and worried and my feet perhaps drag a little but I am following. The man steps through the entrance and is gone, the motion pulling Willow's body forward, her hand still held in his disappearing into the glow and my feet are made of lead but there is a wrongness here and it's not the girl or the shades now, holding me back.
She tugs on my hand and I remember loving having that hand in mine, soft hand, slender fingers, I remember those fingers elsewhere and I want to walk through that entrance, I do. I remember apples and sunshine and beautiful paintings and sunny lecture halls and classmates and friends and funny-shaped pancakes the way my mother used to make them and the large house on Revello Drive where we tried to make a family. Willow turns and looks at me and her eyes are so large and so sad that I want to comfort her like I used to, but she's already fading. Or maybe I'm fading.
I'm sorry, I think she's saying, as the words start to fall out of meaning again. I love you.
I know that, of course.
I love her too, and Dawn and Buffy and Xander and Mr. Giles and Anya and Spike and even my family, Father and Donny and poor cousin Beth, but that doesn't change anything. There is a light behind me, and I turn, fingers already slipping out of Willow's grasp.
There is the woman with the warm smile, my mother, and with her is her mother, and nothing is holding me back any longer
and Willow finally
lets
go.
***
Notes: eurydice72 requested a reworking of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth with Wesley and Willow, angst, Wesley with double guns and unsouled Spike in a positive role. I, uh… did my best. Thanks for the challenge, eurydice72! Couldn’t quite work everything in, but I hope you like it.
Also, the title is from Bullfinch's telling of the myth.
Tara, Willow, Wesley. Not my characters, no money made, blah blah you know the drill. Author’s notes at the end.
No Happy Omens
Endlessly she sits there, mute as stone, small and red and lost. I don't remember what she was looking for, really, but the shades whisper it was me. Maybe it was me, but I don't remember why.
Yet she seems so familiar, this slight red girl.
I think I am angry with her.
Yes, I think so. I think I was very angry with her, once. I don't remember anymore. She won't let me leave, though, and I am tired of this place. Why won't she let me leave? I don't like it here.
I have things to do. Places to go.
What is time? I think time mattered, once. The shades are always restless, but the newer ones seem to fret more over this time. Something about counting, maybe? I don't understand it. I think the girl was worried about time, once, but now it doesn't seem to bother her. She just sits there, looking dull and glassy-eyed, and doesn't bother trying to talk to me anymore.
It was confusing when she tried to talk to me, like she was screaming nonsense across a vast canyon, strings of words tossed out with no meaning behind them. She tried to touch me, too. I don't think she understood there is no touching here. Not for someone like her.
Not that there is anyone else like her here.
Maybe she's lonely?
I am lonely. Why won't she let me go home? I don't think I would be lonely there. I think there's someone waiting for me. Sometimes I can just barely make out the edges of her, work-worn hands and a plain, clean apron. A warm smile that doesn't look tired anymore. She holds out her hands to me and there is a brightness all around her, but I cannot follow. The girl will not let me follow.
She may be lost here, but she is so strong...
I do not understand this time, but I think a lot of it goes by before the man arrives.
He is dark and hard and frightens all the shades, causing a terrible disturbance. I do not like this place, but there is no need to disturb them so, is there? I do not think I like this hard man.
He waves an object in each hand. They are smoking and occasionally emit a loud noise, though they injure no one. They look familiar to me, and I do not like them, do not like them, and the shades are wailing and I wish he would put them away. My chest hurts.
He goes to the girl, shakes her until she looks at him with wide, shocked eyes, and speaks to her urgently. His lips move but the words are like hers, spoken in another language, nonsense. He tells her nonsense.
She shakes her head and gestures and I am seized with terror, for she has not forgotten me.
The man glowers but she will not follow him, so he darts a furtive glance around and whispers something in her ear, putting away the noise makers. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. The girl beams and throws her arms around him. They begin to speak again, rapidly, chanting more nonsense as they hold hands.
The shades are frightened, so frightened, and they swirl and howl in pain. I want to cover my ears but I cannot move, and everything is loud and bright and harsh and there is a popping in my head and I can hear them.
I can understand what they say.
The girl drops the rough man's hands and dashes towards me, touching my shoulder and her hand doesn't go through me. She smiles and cries and kisses me, and she keeps saying Tara, her fingers folded around mine.
Willow? I ask, and she nods.
Quickly or not at all, the man urges as he takes Willow's other hand. And remember,
don't
look
back.
And we are running, and he is pulling her and she is pulling me and the shades are pulling at us, too, trying to keep us here but I do not like it here so I run.
We run forever, the man pulling us, the shades chasing us, until there is a glimmer ahead that grows into an entrance. Willow's hand trembles in mine, and I feel... I feel. I remember things about myself, about her, about the world that waits on the other side and I am excited and afraid and worried and my feet perhaps drag a little but I am following. The man steps through the entrance and is gone, the motion pulling Willow's body forward, her hand still held in his disappearing into the glow and my feet are made of lead but there is a wrongness here and it's not the girl or the shades now, holding me back.
She tugs on my hand and I remember loving having that hand in mine, soft hand, slender fingers, I remember those fingers elsewhere and I want to walk through that entrance, I do. I remember apples and sunshine and beautiful paintings and sunny lecture halls and classmates and friends and funny-shaped pancakes the way my mother used to make them and the large house on Revello Drive where we tried to make a family. Willow turns and looks at me and her eyes are so large and so sad that I want to comfort her like I used to, but she's already fading. Or maybe I'm fading.
I'm sorry, I think she's saying, as the words start to fall out of meaning again. I love you.
I know that, of course.
I love her too, and Dawn and Buffy and Xander and Mr. Giles and Anya and Spike and even my family, Father and Donny and poor cousin Beth, but that doesn't change anything. There is a light behind me, and I turn, fingers already slipping out of Willow's grasp.
There is the woman with the warm smile, my mother, and with her is her mother, and nothing is holding me back any longer
and Willow finally
lets
go.
***
Notes: eurydice72 requested a reworking of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth with Wesley and Willow, angst, Wesley with double guns and unsouled Spike in a positive role. I, uh… did my best. Thanks for the challenge, eurydice72! Couldn’t quite work everything in, but I hope you like it.
Also, the title is from Bullfinch's telling of the myth.