(no subject)
Never in a million years did I ever think I would come back here. Not to Sunnydale. The last time I'd step foot in this town I was an embarrassment to say the least. I did everything wrong and lost my standing, and job, with the Watcher's Council. When I left the hospital that day, I promised myself I would never come back.
I seem to break a lot promises to myself.
After I found out what happened with Buffy, I knew I had to help. I had to make myself useful in some way, shape or form. I broke Faith out of prison and brought her here, and instead of going back to Los Angeles, I stayed. There's nothing in Los Angeles for me. All my friends there think I'm a horrible person, who sentenced an infant to death.
When Connor was born, things started to spin out of control. We had to protect him, and part it was translating the scrolls. I wanted to do it though. It was the least I could do for Angel. He'd given me a job when I needed one and this was the least I could do. And when I fully translated it, my heart stopped.
I wanted to believe I'd made a mistake. I cross checked different texts and even went to outside help but it always came up the same: The Father Will Kill The Son. I didn't want to believe Angel would kill his son, but I knew I had to do something about it. I could've went to one of them but they were all so busy with their own lives.
I was the one who'd made the hard decision to take Connor away. I wasn't going to keep him forever. I was going to take him away for a while and bring him back when I thought the danger had passed. And it would've worked if it weren't for Justine. There are times when I still taste the blood pooling in my mouth.
But it didn't end there, although there are moment when I wish it would've. I was found and taken to the hospital, where Angel tried to kill me. He didn't even give me the chance to example my side. And then Fred, sweet little Fred, came and told me the prophecy was a fake and that it was all for nothing. I'd lost Connor forever because someone had tricked me.
The guilt and pain I felt was too much for me to bear. When I got out of the hospital, I holed myself up in my flat and spent my days drinking until I would pass out. The only visitor I ever got was Lilah Morgan. I still have the book she gave me. The one about Dante's theories about the different levels of Hell. I'm quite sure there's a spot reserved for me after all I've done.
And now? Now I live in a small, dirty motel room in what is considered the bad part of Sunnydale. It fits my mood though. The darkness seems to engulf me, which at the moment is a welcomed thing. A very welcomed thing.
It's night now and I've run out of supplies. I stand from my bed and open the thick, wooden door and peer out into the night. It's nice and I need the air so I decide to walk to get what I need. Grabbing a few wooden stakes and my pistol, I place them in the pockets of my jeans and step outside. The walk shouldn't take too long.
((Open to anyone))