"A spirit like mine
Was forged from fire
A spirit like mine
Will burn on forever
And will never tire
A spirit like mine
Was not meant
For wallowing in the mire
A spirit like mine
Was born to aim higher" By: Unkown


Joyce:

I felt the scream even before it escaped me, my throat hoarse from the hours spent yelling earlier. The hands that held mine tensed, my husband, Hank. He hadn't left my side the entire time and I sent him a reassuring smile as he looked down at me in concern, his brows knitting together in worry. He knew how much pain I was in but there was nothing that could be done about it. There was no amount of numbing herbs or potions we could make that would stop the ache that was tearing through my womb. Sweat was dropping from my forehead onto my chest, my body hot, muscles strained. I only heard the reassuring voices from my husband as he told me to push one more time as the midwife working at my center awaited for the birth of my son. I tried to continue breathing through my contraction but couldn't help but hold my breath, panting as I squeezed my husbands hands in a death-like grip which I knew would leave a bad bruise if not crush a few bones. I couldn't help it. Strength was in my blood.

I let out another yell and then there was a rush from my center and I fell back onto the bed panting. He was out. I'd just given birth to my son. I gave a relieved laugh and then stopped. Everything was silent. Too silent. I tried to see over the swell of my stomach as the midwife worked on my son but I couldn't see anything.

My heart stopped. No, he was fine. Everything was going to be fine. It had to be. I felt my heart lurch and stomach drop, tears filling my eyes.

There was a hiccup and then a high-pitched wail pierced the silence and my heart raced a million miles an hour. The tears that had been forming dropped onto my sweaty cheeks and I closed my eyes falling back onto the pillows behind me once again. I was exhausted. Nearly twenty-two hours of labor. I was definitely not doing that again and Hank would be lucky if he was ever allowed in between my legs again.

"You're amazing. I love you so much, Joyce." His voice was shaky in my ear but held so much love in his words that I knew I could never deny him anything. Lips brushed my temple as he detached his stiff hand from my grasp and moved to take our son from the smiling midwife.

"How is he?"

"It's a girl. You have a healthy little girl." The midwife placed a wrap around our baby and placed her in my Hank's arms.

A daughter? No.

"W-what? Hank, she-"

It was supposed to be a boy.

No!

My heart sank, my tears falling freely. I knew what it was like being a woman with a certain special ancestry. My blood was special, only special to the females who carried it. To some it had brought light and strength in dark times but I only saw it as a curse. I had been running my whole life and watched as it destroyed my family. My whole bloodline was gone.

My daughter was going to grow up into a world she would always be afraid of. Never being able to truly be herself. She would always be running.

"Everything will be fine."

"She'll be hunted, Hank. I never wanted this for our child. M-my family- I'm so sorry."

He came to sit next to me and cooed down at the small pink bundle in his arms. Our daughter wrapped her tiny fists around the finger he offered her and he sent me the most wonderful smile that held my gaze, unmoving.

"Never be sorry." His whispered words were in awe of the life we had created. He placed our daughter on my chest and for the first time I found myself speechless.

My fingers ghosted across her soft round cheeks, her lips were so small as she pouted in protest from having been ripped from the warmth of her cocoon for the last 9 months. She had barely any hair, her eyebrows faint but noticeable as she frowned. As if she knew that I was staring her tiny eyes opened to reveal a bright set of green eyes. Hank's eyes.

There was no denying who her father was. My heart skipped a beat as I took in a deep and shaky breath.

"She is so beautiful."

Those tiny green eyes fluttered closed when Hank ran a hand over the smooth expanse of her head.

"We made her."

"We did." I couldn't help but grin at the memory that statement invoked. Leaning up I captured my gorgeous husband's lips with mine before both of our gazes fixed on our daughter again.

I had taken so many risks in deciding to have a child. I'd even gone as far as finding a witch to produce that disgusting cocktail I had had to drink for two months to ensure the pregnancy would result in a boy. I'd tried herbs and pastes in my foods, Hank had even tried a spell. He dabbled in the arts you see. He wasn't exactly the most amazing witch- er warlock but he did try. I unconsciously tucked the hair around my ear, the side of my face still stung from the backlash of that particular spell gone wrong. I had a burn mark on my cheek barely the size of a plum but that had stopped him practicing around me ever again.

Staring down at the innocent babe that lay nestled into my chest I sent a silent vow above then and there that I would I do all that was capable in my powers to keep our child safe.

My daughter would not suffer the same fate that I and my mother and her mother's family before me suffered.

"She needs a name." Hank spoke, brows furrowing as he tried to think of one.

I hmm'd for a few moments, all the names that we had thought of had been boys names and there was no way in hell my daughter was going to be called Walter.

There was silence for a few moments and it took me a second to realize the midwife had left. It wasn't safe to linger anywhere at night. I looked back to my sleeping daughter and traced her round chubby cheek.

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth." Hank whispered in echo, smiling his agreement. "A very special name for a very special little girl."

She was special.

Special was in her blood.

................................

Buffy

18 years later

At first she heard nothing but the thundering sound of her own heartbeat as it pounded rapidly in her chest, the sounds of growling and yelling breaking through the fog as she struggled to stay upright. She lost her footing on the stone steps and tumbled, hitting the ground with a thud.

This is not my day

Granted this was not her last few years. The Fates had screwed her big time on this one and there was no way she was letting them control her life. No sir. She was running.

...Again.

"FIND HER!"

Eyes widened as the thundering voice of her captor ripped through the castle walls. He was pissed. She wiped the tangled mass of hair from her face with shaking hands and noticing for the first time the blood that covered them.

When had that happened? Was that mine?

Footsteps sounded down the hall from where she had just run and with a rush of movement and no further thoughts to her bloodied hands, lifted her skirts, pulled herself up and ran.

There was no way she was getting caught again.

No sir, not this time.

Taking down the two men outside the servants' quarters door was easy, thanks to the new found power running through her veins of course. She'd known this day was coming. Had known what to expect but never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would be like this. If she concentrated hard enough she could even feel the blood rushing to isolated muscles before she punched. Her strength was incredible and was ultimately what had helped her escape.

She was stronger, faster- squinting through the fog that covered the field and towards the stables she grinned- her sight was better too. Her father's words whispered to her in the darkness. "Never rush into a situation hot-headed."

Buffy let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the stables unguarded.

"She can't have gotten very far. Sun's going to be up soon. This way..."

The guards were getting closer and she couldn't risk lingering to scout any longer. Pushing off from the wall Buffy burst into the open field and cut through the fog like a breeze itself.

This 'chosen' thing was kinda neat.

She had been smart this time, thought ahead. There was no way she was getting caught again.There were severe consequences for running away.

Which of course I'd learned the hard way.

The first time she had barely made it to the edge of the property before being brought back. Her punishment, after threatening her 'beast' of a captor, had been a knife cut to the face, not life-threateningly deep but deep enough to leave a scar from her cheek to lip.

"Now you're a beast just like me."

His words had kept her frozen in shock for a week after that, her face taking months to heal.

The second time had been worse.

She knew what he was, what half of his house guard consisted of but it never ceased to make her stop trying. Call her stubborn or hot-headed but she would not be bound by the prophecy the Fates had laid out before her.

I control my life, not them or any beast.

She had escaped from her room in the middle of the day, the bindings on her wrists just loose enough to slip her hands out of her shackles. It was a better attempt, making it two towns over before her captor's head daylight 'human' guard had found her.

Riley.

Sometimes I think he's worse than the beast himself.

Riley was the beast's right-hand man who liked delivering pain to others. There where things she would never forget and one of them was how much Riley enjoyed inflicting pain. It still made her shudder with unease. Riley knew that she was off-limits to even Angelus. Angelus was very particular who his minions and guards were allowed to touch. She was thankful that even she was off limits to Angelus, Drusilla making it clear she not to be touched sexually until after her 'becoming' when the prophecy said she was to supposedly breed with the beast and bear him a child.

Not like it would actually work. Vampires couldn't father children. Duh.

Riley had given her 10 lashes across the back for running.

The third time she ran, after knocking out the guard who had come to remove her shackles from the wall and tie her to the bed she was kept on at night, and was once again brought back, she had wished for death. Lashes again, except the wounds on her back still hadn't fully recovered from the first round.

She should have learnt by now.

But what can you say. I am stubborn.

She knew this would be the last time. Her last chance.

He would not leave her so carelessly shackled in her room alone and unguarded again. No. She would be in the cells beneath the castle, dark, wet and cold. Never knowing just how much time had past, never knowing if today was her last day. Just like it was at the beginning.

He was a beast, a creature with a lust for blood and torment and she knew the cut to his side and the kick she had delivered to his groin wouldn't keep him down for long. He would come after her and now that he knew her time had come, there was no telling what he was willing to do, or the lengths he was willing to go to to recapture her.

She slid inside the stables quietly, the snorting of the horses were getting louder as she moved about and she knew it wasn't safe to linger any longer. Picking a horse, snorting, its eyes wide, she quickly grabbed a bridle and saddle off the wall. Her hands shaky, she fumbled for a few seconds and finally managed to tackle the horse up.

Men were shouting outside, footsteps crunching in the pebbles and dirt as they made their way closer. Closing her eyes for the barest of seconds she sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening to help make it out of this hell in one piece.

"Come on girl."

Digging her heels into the horse's side she let out a shout. The horse reared up and charged off into the morning light where the beast dared not follow.