My Immortal

But she could still feel Tara in her, around her. Her scent remained on Willow's clothes, even after so many laundry days. She could smell Tara's vanilla perfume, and the sprigs of sandalwood that had always accompanied her presence. Even after these empty weeks, Tara's scent was a sharp reprimand of all that had been right…and was now so wrong.

Time would not help Willow forget all she had done, to Tara, to her friends, to the world. She had been the one who'd embraced the dark arts, who'd pushed away everyone that could help her. And she'd killed, ended a human life in cold blood. Sure, Warren had deserved it, but she was a murderer. She had killed him as he begged for his life, helpless before her. But she'd tortured him, made him feel all the pain she had felt; then Willow had killed him, when no more pain could be endured. If she hadn't done that, well, she wouldn't be in drab old England, alone and friendless. No, time would not erase her guilt. It would just serve to prolong the feeling, a reminder that it was all her fault.

She had been there for Tara though. Through all of her insecurities, she'd guarded her. From her family, to her stutter, to her common self-embarrassment, she'd stood by her side.

When Tara had been helpless, Willow had taken care of her. Like when Glory had sucked her brain; she had been the one who wouldn't let the doctors keep her. She hadn't just accepted the fact that Tara was insane but had found a way to bring her back.

Two short years; that was all Willow and Tara had had. How she wished that there could have been more. And there could have been, if once again, Willow hadn't done what she had. Why had she let the magicks pull her in? None of this would have happened if it weren't for the damn magicks! Why was she even a Wicca? She sure as frilly heck didn't deserve it. She'd abused the magicks the earth had given her, abused her love, her life, her friends.

If Tara never wanted her again, well, Willow couldn't blame her. Sometimes, she wanted to know what Tara thought. It had been such a natural reaction for so long. Tara had been her crutch, her light in the darkness. Willow had been tempted to take her life, to find out Tara's reaction to her blow-up with magicks. She wanted, needed, to know if Tara would still have her. Whether Tara was willing to wait for her in the afterlife meant the world to Willow, but even if Tara couldn't forgive her, she would never forget. Forever, Tara would hold her heart.

Tara was everything Willow envisioned as good. There was a passion in her life, a purity that couldn't be tainted. She had been the best soul, the ultimate plane of virtuous and worthy. Now that she was gone all Willow could do was try to prove herself worthy enough to be with Tara in the afterlife. Perhaps the Goddess would be merciful, perhaps she would give Willow a second chance.

Before, with Tara asleep beside her, Willow's dreams had been filled with her pleasant visage. Naughty dreams, with lots and lots of smoochies, cuddles and what not. Now, she still dreamed of her, but instead of bringing happiness, Tara once again served as a reminder of what was lost and could not be found again.

Every time Willow heard Tara moan her name, it sent her over the edge. Tara's voice told her again just what she had lost. It made her dark side want to break loose, to end her own suffering, and the world along with her. That precious hold that she had on her actions would dissipate if she wasn't careful, and sometimes, Willow didn't want to be. She wanted to let it all go.

She would always remember everything she done. Willow would never let it go. The remorse would be her life-code. It would control her actions, keep her powers in check, and remind her. Forever reminding her of all the wrongs she had committed.

Still, Willow would sometimes argue against her own logic, telling herself that she still deserved Tara; that she was still good enough for her, and that there was still hope for them to be together. She was loyal - and her intentions were good. The end of the world was the only funeral fit for a goddess, right? Willow knew that was bullshit.

Tara was here with her too. Not physically, but spiritually. Tara had told her she would never leave. Ever. But even with that promise, Willow felt so alone. She wanted, needed, to feel Tara in her, on her, skin to skin. She wanted to taste her kiss, her essence, one last time, to commit to memory every curve of her object of worship.

Willow sniffed, wiping her eyes, then looked around at the attention she had gathered from the other Internet surfers. "Sorry," she muttered, letting her hair cover her eyes in reminiscence of Tara. She didn't bother to log out; she wasn't coming back to this café anyways. She wanted people to see what Tara meant to her, put into words and pictures on the site she had just poured all her love into. No matter how far she'd have to go to find redemption; Willow would always remain Tara's. A small smile appeared on Willow's face as she walked out the door.