A few quick responses before the next bit.
Puff: Thank you for your hug and your words. They mean so much.
4WiccanLuv: Got the kitty hug, thank you. . . .
B & C, compassionate harassers?
And the fainting emoticon? Am I lucky or what? As always. . . do I need to say it? This is for you.
Title: Darkness Falls Author: KrisBo5 (Kris, obviously)
Email address: KrisBo5@aol.com Feedback: Sure, I’d love it.
Distribution: This story is the narrative form of four spec scripts I have written for BVS, each of which is registered with the WGAw, so please don’t publish it or reproduce it in any way, shape, or form. If for some reason you’d like to, just ask first. It’s the polite thing to do.
Spoilers: Season 6, “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” episodes.
Rating: The story in its entirety: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, language.
Pairing: Willow and Tara, first, foremost, forever! However, Buffy and the others are here as well, Buffy and Dawn most especially.
Disclaimer: Hey, I didn’t create these characters, those kudos belong to Joss and crew. I’m just borrowing them for the story I did write.
Summary: The mythology surrounding the creation of the first Slayer(it sounds like a Buffy story, but have no fear, this is all about Willow and Tara).
Note: Things from here on out? Ain’t gonna be pretty. Angst and loss and pain. Read at your own discretion.
Darkness Falls, Part Two: Maelstrom(2B)
“That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.” Emily Dickinson, Poem Number 1741
As soon as the limo pulled away from the curb, Tara felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her and she was falling.
Into the unknown.
Into the abyss.
And for her, she knew there was no way out. She’d made her choice and she would see it through.
Whatever the cost, she would see it through.
For The Scoobies.
For herself.
For Willow.
Most of all, for her Willow.
She turned to watch the hospital fade into the distance, into the black night, then slowly faced forward. None of the other occupants spoke, or even looked her direction, but Tara could feel their presence, their darkness and evil, pressing in on her, boreing into her. The true nature of them, the low buzz and hum of their inhuman forms, swirled in the confined space, churning her stomach with wave upon wave of nausea and fear. Tara found herself leaning away from them, huddling herself as far into the corner of the door as she possibly could; her eyes continually sought refuge through the darkly-tinted window, watching cars and houses and people as they sped by. And although she could not focus on any one thing outside, it was better than looking upon the car’s other occupants. She wasn’t sure how long they had driven before they turned onto a quiet, upscale neighborhood street just on the outskirts of town. At the end of the cul-de-sac, the limo pulled into the driveway of a beautiful, newly built home, and stopped.
Tara closed her eyes and felt her heart rate speed up as the engine turned off. The sound of doors opening brought the blonde’s eyes open quickly. Fonce and the others stepped out of the car, leaving her alone for several seconds.
Okay, you can do this. You’re strong. I am strong. . . like an Amazon. And I can do this. I can do this.Tara heard the handle of her door rattling, and she sat up away from it. The door opened and Tara froze.
She felt like she was at a crossroads, and to get out of the car would mean she had finally, ultimately, made her choice.
There would be no going back.
As she felt the weight of her decision pressing down upon her, Tara suddenly heard something in the darkness.
Something so simple and down-to-earth and. . . natural that a smile touched the corners of her mouth.
Chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp.Crickets.
Not knowing why, not understanding how, Tara felt a wave of calmness and acquiescence wash over her, clearing away her fears and doubts.
I. Can. Do. This.She swallowed and took a deep breath, then grabbed hold of the door, half-pushing, half-pulling herself out of the car. And when she stepped out, Tara stood up tall, looking directly at the Scorpion Man. The blonde’s strong, silent, confident stare worked exactly as she knew it would: Scorpion Man backed a step away from her, giving her room. She took a step to her left and Scorpion Man slammed the door loudly. Tara blessed him with another icy glare.
Shifting behind her, on the other side of the car, drew Tara’s attention; looking over her shoulder, she saw Scorpion Woman walking up the front walk towards the house. The blonde pivoted her body and raised her eyes to her final destination.
A house.
A big house.
But a house none-the-less.
Normal. . . nice. . . evil.Another noise brought her attention back to where she stood, and she glanced towards the street. For a moment, everything was still and quiet and empty.
Then, she heard them.
One second before she saw them.
From the shadows they came. . . all of them.
Lumbering from the darkness.
Alone.
In groups.
They all came.
Towards the house.
Towards home.
Towards her.
Night of the Living Dead. The thought raced through Tara’s mind as she watched them all coming towards her, moving in and out of the bluish fluorescent glow of the streetlights, their horrid visages revealed in their entirety. Tara took another calming breath.
I can do this.One of the creatures stepped up onto the curb and walked up the driveway, turning to look at Tara as it made its way to the house. Tara’s eyes grew wide as the monster’s hideous teeth clacked against one another rapidly, the thing’s half-dozen blackened, infernal eyes drilling into hers; the blonde reached behind her to rest a steadying hand on the limo.
Oh, Goddess, give me strength. . . . Behind her, she heard the front door to the house open.
Despite her fear of turning her back on the night creatures ambling towards her, Tara pivoted towards the house. The silhouette of a man stood in the doorway, his appearance shadowed by the illumination behind him. As she stared, her blood pounding in her ears, Tara heard a low, buzzing hum. Her eyebrows creased as she tried to make out what, exactly, the noise was, and where it was coming from.
Then, as the hum rose in tenor, Tara felt. . .
something touch her.
Her mind.
Her body.
It was dark.
Whatever it was, it was dark.
And evil.
Then, as suddenly as she had felt it appear, it passed over her, moved beyond her, escaping into the night.
Tara trembled.
The man in the doorway turned sideways and raised an arm, palm up, inside the house, a silent ‘please come inside’ gesture.
Tara swallowed hard.
Strong. . . like an Amazon. Making her hands into fists, she pushed away from the car, turning to make her way up to the house; as she brought her eyes around to Scorpion Man, she froze.
It was gone.
Where it had once been, now stood a handsome young man, elegantly dressed in designer clothes. He smiled, his teeth white and straight and. . . perfectly human.
What the. . . ? Tara’s head quickly whipped around towards the street.
They were gone.
All of them.
All of the monsters. . . gone.
Humans— men and women— all beautiful and beautifully dressed, were now there, strolling leisurely across the street, up the drive or over the front lawn, into the house.
Tara’s mind whirled, trying to understand what was happening.
Gone. . . they’re gone. It’s not possible. It’s not— Tara slowly looked back to the smiling man beside her, letting her eyes roam over his face more closely. There was something about him. Something. . . .
Him. It’s him. From the street. The man we saw. The man. . . who turned into a monster. Tara’s eyes dropped momentarily as more parts pieced together, falling like tumblers in a lock.
Magic. She raised her eyes to the man, then looked at the house quickly.
Magic. What I felt. It came from the house and. . . it changed them. . . . it hid them. Looking to the man again, Tara watched his smile fade as he spun around and left her, marching towards the house. She realized then that they all had gone, they all had left her alone; if she wanted, she could run. She could run away, run back to The Scoobies, run back to the only family she had. Her heart sped up as the possibility played out before her. Then she looked at the house: the man in the door continued to offer her entrance, unmoving, unthreatening.
Tara took a deep breath and craned her neck back towards Sunnydale.
Towards the hospital.
Towards Willow.
Willow. The mere thought of Willow— her lover, her life, her heart— brought the blonde’s notions of fleeing to a screeching halt.
No. Tara steeled herself and brought her gaze back to the house.
No. No running. I can do this. . . I will do this. She moved slowly around the back end of the car and began the short trek up the cobblestone walkway to the front stoop; she walked up the three steps and crossed the small porch, stopping at the threshold. In the light, the man appeared to be in his thirties, very attractive with brown eyes and deeply tanned skin; he smiled and lowered his arm, walking into the the foyer.
Tara’s eyes followed his movement, pausing instantly as they reached the inner hall. The wood-paneled passageway led from the front door to, what Tara presumed was, the back of the house, but what stupefied the blonde, what made her mouth fall open in confusion, was it’s length. It stretched out before Tara endlessly, the side walls converging into a single point several hundred feet down. As she stared, it almost seemed like it expanded; while she stood still, it moved away from her.
Poltergeist hall. The image from the horror film flashed in her mind’s eye: the mother standing at one end of the hall facing her children’s room, watching horrified as the closer she ran towards them, the farther away they got as the hall stretched and warped out in front of her.
Tara looked up, towards the inside ceiling, again feeling like she was in Vincent Price’s House of Horrors. The ceiling looked to be almost one hundred feet high, domed, painted with dark colored illustrations. Disbelief brimming over, Tara took a step back onto the porch and looked up to the roof.
Forty feet. . . at the most. No dome. Trompe L’oel. . . trick of the eye. . . magic. Tara lowered her eyes and approached the threshold once again. She took a deep breath. . . and took a tentative step, stopping just inside the foyer. She raised her eyes, getting a clearer view of the painting on the ceiling: depictions of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, Dark and Light.
Hieronymus Bosch. Without warning, Tara felt dizzy, a wave of nausea and anxiety hitting her as she began to comprehend the magnitude of magicks— of absolute magickal powers— someone had to harness to maintain the deceit she was witness to.
It was unknowable.
It was unfathomable.
It was boundless.
And it was way beyond her.
She dropped her eyes and looked to her left, into the front room. Swallowing the dryness in her mouth, she made her way the few steps in that direction, pausing at the archway. All of the ‘creatures’ were there, although they still retained their human qualities. They all sat or stood silently, their gazes leveling to Tara as she approached.
Oh, Goddess. . . now or never. She moved into the room, keeping her back to the wall; she slid— as discreetly as possible— along its flat planes till she had positioned herself close to the corner. Tara’s eyes passed over the room, mentally taking notes, preparing herself.
One, two, three, . . . eight, nine, . . . twelve, thirteen. Thirteen. Her heart beat accelerated, her blood coursing through her like whitewater rapids.
Thirteen. . . I can k-kill thirteen. . . I c-can.Unexpectantly, the creatures turned their eyes from her en masse; they looked behind them, towards the double doors leading to another part of the house. Tara’s eyes followed, widening as she watched a beautiful black woman enter the room, standing just inside the doorway. Although she was well over forty feet away from her, the blonde recognized her.
Her. . . the woman in the window. . . Madrine.The woman took several more steps into the room, stopping beside a chair and lightly resting a delicately manicured hand on its back. The creatures turned their eyes back to Tara, as if they were watching some silent game playing out before them.
Tara held her breath.
I. Can. Do. This.She exhaled slowly through her mouth. At her sides, her hands became fists, her fingernails cutting into her palms as she squeezed them until they shook.
“La stella di giorno,” Tara whispered, her tone low and measured, as she began to recite a spell.
Star of the day.“Luce vi illuminarsi la notte.”
Light up the night.Tara felt the first tingles of magickal energy caress her mind and body, weaving a discordant path through her blood and marrow as it raced to ‘become.’
The creatures felt the magickal shift in the room, felt the energy flowing out of the blonde wiccan hovering in the corner. Realization dawned horribly: they had underestimated her, underestimated her power, so well hidden beneath her quiet, shy exterior. Several began to move towards her, while others shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. Their finely-crafted, placid exteriors were finally giving way. . . to anger and hate. . . and fear.
Most of all. . . fear.
Tara felt it at last, felt it surging forth in breakers. She raised her blue eyes to them all, her chin held up defiantly, confidently, and. . .
. . . a smile touched her lips.
Tara raised her fists out in front of her body, her arms shaking with burgeoning power. “Bruciare!”
Burn!Tara opened her hands, two orbs of hot, white magickal sun materializing just above her palms.
Seven of the thirteen shrieked as their bodies began to smolder.
“Scoppiare in fiamme,” she continued, impatient for the faux sun to finish its job.
Burst into flames.And all of them did.
Their vampire faces morphed before her an instant before they became dust. The suns disappeared as quickly as they appeared, now that the reason for their existence was complete. Tara’s body shook uncontrollaby, the magic and her own adrenaline mixing within her, creating a supercharged energy striving for release.
The non-vampiric demons charged her, but she raised a hand to them.
To all of them.
“Dolore!”
Pain!And all of them felt it.
Including the woman beside the chair. Their bodies writhed and twitched and contorted under the invisible torture and torment being pressed upon them.
Some moaned.
Some cried.
But all. . . all screamed.
Tara’s breathing became more labored, coming in deep, short gasps, as she continued to work her magicks.
“Senza fiato.”
Breathless.Bodies collapsed to the hard floors, hands grasping desperately at collars and jewels and flesh, tearing everything away in an attempt to get air into lungs. Screaming was quickly replaced by kicking legs and thrashing bodies, flailing arms and shaking heads.
Tara watched them all twist and turn on the ground, their suffering and agony a tangible taste on her tongue.
Enough. . . that’s enough. . . .“For my Willow,” she said, as she lowered her hand. “Morte ultimo.”
Final death.In the instant the words left her lips, the bodies ceased their struggles.
They all lay still.
Unmoving.
Dead.
Silence surrounded Tara, the only sound her heart pounding a deafening beat in her ears. Her body still trembling fiercely, the blonde took an unsteady step away from the wall. She canvased the room, and the ‘living debris’ she had created; her eyes fell upon the woman beside the chair, though now she lay on the ground, her body angled in a last, twisted pose.
Fourteen. . . fourteen. . . d-dead. I-I d-did. . . .Tara swallowed as stinging tears welled up in her eyes unexpectedly. The blonde had prepared herself for this fight fully, knowing that in all likelihood, she would not survive her attempt to destroy them all.
She was prepared for that.
A part of her wished for it.
Standing there now, she realized that she had won, she’d beaten them and lived.
She wasn’t prepared for that.
Silent tears fell from her eyes as the enormity of what she had just accomplished hit her.
For my Willow.Wiping her tears away, Tara turned her back to the room and started for the door.
“A spider in the web.”
Tara froze.
The voice, unlike anything she had ever heard before— layered Middle Eastern, British, American— spoke from behind her. Tara felt like she was moving in slo-mo as she turned around to face its owner, the secret part of her soul already knowing who it would be.
Madrine. . . .Tara’s eyes fell on the woman standing in the archway of the double doors. She was young and beautiful, with dark skin and darker eyes, and she stared at Tara with a mixed look of desire and pride. Tara knew, in that instant, that she had made an error in judgement.
A grave error.
Oh, Goddess, no. . . . THAP!“A-ah!” Tara said, slapping a hand to the back of her neck as she felt an extremely sharp sting. She grimaced as she pulled the offending pricker from her skin; bringing it close to her eyes, she recognized the small, expertly-crafted dart from earlier.
Poison. She glanced to her right, and through the foyer, on the other side of the hall, Fonce stood in all his hideous glory; he lowered his cane blower from his mouth and smiled.
Tara looked at Madrine again, the rapid movement making the room spin. The blonde felt her temperature rise, her blood beginning to boil beneath her heated flesh. She wavered on her feet slightly as the room began to tilt to the left; she reached a blind hand out to the wall behind her, groping for something solid, for something to hold on to. Tara pressed her body against the wall, sliding herself around the entryway into the foyer. She blinked several times, not quite sure she was seeing what she was seeing.
The front door was still open.
Tara swallowed hard, knowing she had to make it there.
Knowing she had to try.
Tara pushed away from the wall and stepped towards the door. She felt her foot turn over, and then she was falling. She hit the ground hard, her arms too weak to cushion her fall. Dazed, and feeling all sensation leaving her, she tried one last time to drag her body across the wood floors. She had succeeded in getting her left hand out in front of her when she could no longer move. Paralysis had set in, freezing her in her prone, vulnerable position. Tara turned her face to rest her cheek on the cool wood, her eyes blinking slower. . . slower.
Footfalls approached her, clicking over the paneled floor. Tara could only watch as a pair of black boots stopped inches from her face. “Yes, there is a spider in the web,” Madrine said, and Tara watched as Madrine squatted beside her. “But, you are not the spider. . . .” Madrine dropped a hand on the floor and leaned over until her face was directly in front of Tara’s; Tara stared into the black eyes, feeling her life ebb away with every heartbeat. “You, Tara Maclay. . . you are the fly.” Madrine smiled at the blonde, her ebony eyes shining bright; she pushed herself up to her feet and walked away.
Tara’s eyes fluttered as the light around her began to dim. As her eyelids finally closed, and darkness at last consumed her, Tara’s last thoughts were of. . . .
Willow.TBC
Kris
“Frell that!”
by singgirl » Wed Aug 14, 2002 12:34 am 
as to kill you, is she 
and i love your nagging other people, so ... she must be a fine lady.
(the also worshipping emoticon 
cool update! thanks i was like "Go Tara!" and i am NOT scared because i know she won't die, she's just sleeping, isn't she? 
of course she is and Willow will come barging in to save her.
... but that's not the point.
