Xander and Dawn had resumed their Uno game while Giles sat alone at a small table nearby, staring into a styrofoam cup as though it were a scrying device that would provide all necessary answers. His concentration was direct and focused – he might have been the room's sole occupant for all the attention he was paying to anything around him.

With a triumphant "Ha!" Xander tossed down a card.

"Ha ha!" was Dawn's response as she threw down one of her own.

The carpenter carefully selected another card and smacked it atop the pile. "Fear my 'leet Uno skillz."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "God, don't talk like that. Your lameness runneth over." Her gaze narrowed as she scrutinized her hand. "And, by the way – Ha." With a grand flourish she added another card to the discard stack.

"My lameness?" came the brisk retort, followed by the throwing down of yet another card. "I believe that I am holding only twooooo—" Xander waved his pair of fanned cards tauntingly before Dawn's face, "—cards, whereas you have onetwothreefourfivesix in need of rapid disposal."

Dawn regarded him with pity for a moment and then announced, with a smirk of victory as she slapped down cards in speedy succession, "Draw Two, Skip to me, Draw Two, Reverse to me, Reverse to me— Uno! —ha." She leant back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

Dismayed, Xander stared for a moment, his remaining cards held within limp fingers. He scowled at Dawn's smug expression before stating, "I find it unspeakably distressing that I can't seem to win at this game. I think I could only feel worse by a 10-game losing streak of Candyland."

"Oo, wanna play that next?" she offered brightly.

"No. I wanna find out your secret, you Uno-playing fiend!"

"No secret. You just suck."

"Oh no. You've got a secret, an' you better spill if you know what's good for you!"

Within his solitude, the Watcher continued to stare into his cup. There was the brief flash of a scene perceived through the eyes of a seated figure over which Giles loomed menacingly, fist raised and tightly clenched, knuckles showing white against the flesh – but the vision was fleeting.

Xander regarded Dawn with narrowed eyes and his voice adopted a rather bad German accent. "You sink you vill not talk? Ve have vays of makink you talk."

Dawn squealed with laughter as Xander lunged for her across the table, his fingers wiggling with untold menace.

Giles appeared to be paying the two no attention whatsoever, but his mind's eye flashed blurred and indistinct images of violence as he heard Dawn's shrieks as though from the end of a long tunnel. He closed his eyes for no more than a heartbeat and then stared once more into the depths of his cup. The reflection that regarded him solemnly from its creamed coffee contents was weary and haunted.

Madrigan's eyes sparkled with undisguised enthusiasm as he looked from Tara to Willow. He virtually bounced on the balls of his feet with glee, rather like a fanboy who had finally managed to meet his idols. His delight was obviously rampant, but the air of danger continued to linger. For their part, the two witches regarded the mage with no little nervousness and a great deal of suspicion.

"Wow," he announced with excitement. "You know? Wow. This is ... It's huge. I gotta tell you. Big fan. And to think we almost didn't get to see this – you two, together again ... It's like the Rosenberg/Maclay reunion world tour. Man, this is bigger than if we brought back John and George and had a Beatles command performance." He paused for a moment as his eyes lit up. "Note to self: good idea."

"It was you," accused Tara. "You resurrected me."

Smirking at her realization, Madrigan twitched an eyebrow in acknowledgement. "Some of my finest work."

"But why?" the blonde pressed. "I mean ..." She looked to Willow and then back at Madrigan. "I know what I was told, but ... It wasn't just for that, was it?"

"We all have our parts to play, Miss Maclay," he replied, steepling his fingers and adopting the air of imparting great wisdom. "It's a pretty piss-poor director who won't let his talent spread her wings."

Willow, who up until this point had simply been standing by and listening warily, felt her temper begin to rise. She took a challenging step forward. "Who are you?" she demanded without preamble.

"That's really not important," he chuckled dismissively. "No, what's really important is – who are you?"

"You know who we are."

"Well sure," Madrigan readily agreed, "but do you?"

Willow and Tara regarded each other with confused expressions. Madrigan smiled brightly and bobbed his head in confirmation. "That's what I thought."

Tara frowned. "We don't have time for games."

"No? You should make time. Games are what make this crazy life worth living year after tediously boring year. The way I see it," he lectured, wandering back and forth like a college professor talking about his thesis work, "life's got two modes: the fun and the serious. The serious ..." Madrigan paused to snort disdainfully. "Well, we've got the embodiment of that already, don't we? Ahh, but the fun?" The grin he threw the two women was wide and fiendishly wicked. "That's what it's all about. I mean sure, we've all got our plans and our destinies and our blah blah blah." He waved a hand in the air in random patterns to emphasize his point. "But what good's any of that do you if you don't have fun with it, you know?"

Coming to a halt, he exhaled with a long, deep and intrinsically contended sigh, seeming to be lost in another world. Willow glanced to Tara with an expression that screamed 'is this guy for real?'. The returning look was no less wondering in nature. Suddenly, Madrigan roused himself from his reverie.

"But listen to me, blathering like some crazy super villain going on about his world philosophy." As the spoken words sunk in, he tilted his head to one side. "Huh," he murmured, contemplating the irony for a moment, then shook his head. "Anywhoo, not why we're here."

"Is why we're here to kick your butt?" queried Willow hopefully with narrowed eyes. "Cuz personally, I think that'd be a lotta fun."

Thrusting his hands in the air, Madrigan took a step backward. "Whoa-hey!" he exclaimed as he turned to Tara. "Behold the snark! Gets sorta covered up by the whole pixie-ish exterior—" To the redhead he added, "—which I gotta tell you, by the way is dead sexy." As Willow's mouth opened and closed in silent protestation, the mage's yellow eyes focused once again on the other witch. "Guess you haven't really seen much of that side of her though, have you?"

Tara sighed heavily. "Have we gotten to the part that's not tediously boring yet?"

Throwing back his head, Madrigan let loose a howl of laughter. "And again!"

Shaking his head, he calmed and wiped the tears of hilarity from his eyes before grinning at the pair with an immense display of affection. "You two have been great. So I tell you what ..."

Before either Tara or Willow could react, the mage lashed out with both hands. A stream of energy burst from his fingertips, snaking toward the witches and encircling them like a whip. As he violently jerked his arms apart, Tara and Willow were thrown toward opposing walls, each on a direct collision course with one of the suspended mirrors. But instead of the glass shattering, it rippled to accommodate the arrival and swallowed its victim whole before undulating back into a smooth and unmarred surface.

Madrigan stared at the location where the women had been just moments before, a smile of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No more games."

In one of the more seedy areas of Trillium, Buffy paused at the door of an establishment whose sputtering pink neon sign proclaimed it to be named 'After Midnight'. She cautiously entered and surveyed the interior with a critical eye. Despite its sleazy location, it appeared to have once been a rather high class watering hole. However, stools which had bordered the bar were now demolished, intimately-placed tables and chairs had been smashed almost beyond recognition, televisions positioned at each corner of the room had been totally destroyed, and an arched annex which had formerly housed pool tables displayed every indication of having been hit by an unstoppable tornado. In short, the saloon had been utterly trashed.

Moving warily, Buffy navigated the ruins in search of any sign of life and heard noises emanating from the back room. Quickening her pace, the Slayer burst through the beaded curtain and was surprised to find a woman wielding a broom with much ferocity, muttering darkly as she tried to salvage what she could from the devastation. Buffy's eyes narrowed as she took note of the proprietor's exotic appearance – flawless skin and luxuriously-curling hair the color of polished mahogany – but otherwise seemingly nothing more than a particularly striking example of the female species. Buffy's offensive posture relaxed.

Equally taken aback at the sudden arrival, the woman blinked at Buffy through her almond-shaped jade eyes and abruptly dropped the broom, raising her hands in defense. She inspected the Slayer from head to toe and then defiantly flicked her hair over one shoulder with purple-painted fingernails.

"Great," she commented with an angry toss of her head. "Just great. Come to finish the job?"

Buffy took a step forward. "What?"

Reacting quickly, the woman retrieved the broom and waved the handle warningly in Buffy's direction. "Was there one tiny corner of my livelihood that you Slayers haven't destroyed?" She glanced around and spied something that apparently fit the bill. "Yes! There was this glass!" She dashed to the undamaged item, scooping it up protectively as she glared. "Glass," she reiterated. "Note I am using the singular form of the word. This solitary, lone glass."

Holding it aloft as though it were a sacred object, the proprietor suddenly hurled the glass violently to the floor, where it smashed immediately upon impact. Acting on reflex, Buffy skipped backward.

"There!" announced the woman with something akin to satisfaction, her arms thrown wide. "Nothing left to destroy now, so you can go on home!" Pitching the broom to one side, she placed her hands upon her hips and faced Buffy.

"Look ..." the Slayer began, prompting for the bar owner's name.

The woman arched an elegant eyebrow, but complied with the unspoken request. "Sam."

"Sam," agreed Buffy with nod. "I can tell you've had a real ... stressful day, so just answer a couple questions and I'll let you get back to your ..."

"Sweeping up the shattered remains of my once bright and promising future?" Sam suggested in a cheerful but slightly manic tone. "Gee, that'd be swell."

Letting the sarcasm slide, Buffy continued, "I'm looking for someone. Dark hair, a little taller than me, probably pretty upset—"

"Likes to smash stuff?" came the interruption, followed by a pursing of the glossed lips. "Yeah, I think I might know her. She's one of you, right? A Slayer. She comes in here not ten minutes ago, starts screaming about finding demons, vampires ... 'Anything in need of a good killing', she said. I don't know why she came looking here."

Buffy waited for a moment before stating, slowly but succinctly, "Maybe because this is a demon bar, typically frequented by said demons?"

For a moment, Sam simply blinked, and it looked as though she might refute the charge. Instead, she shrugged. "Well okay, grant you," she yielded reluctantly. "But come on – it's, like, two in the afternoon. The place is called 'After Midnight' for a reason you know. Besides the fact that I like Clapton," she added with a tiny smile of appreciation.

Swallowing down a sigh of frustration, Buffy's quest for information continued. "Okay, so Faith comes in here—"

"Her name's Faith?" Sam's tone was incredulous. "My Irony Sense is tingling."

Buffy let her 'Slayer Face' slip into place, and Sam straightened under the penetrating glare, any further color commentary wisely being kept internal. "Faith comes in here," the blonde repeated, "and demands the demons. You tell her there aren't any, and she ..."

Gesturing at the surrounding shambles, Sam regarded Buffy with speculation. "Pretty sure you can fill in the blanks, princess."

Buffy followed the encompassing sweep of Sam's hand before her gaze returned to the bar's proprietor. The Slayer's eyes narrowed and for a moment, it seemed as though Sam's show of bravado was about to falter. She shuffled somewhat apprehensively, tugged at the hem of her tight halter top, and apparently found her skirt to be of immense interest. But the nervousness was fleeting and Buffy's scrutiny was soon challenged.

"What?" demanded Sam.

Buffy tilted her head. "You're not human, are you?"

"Hey, look at me," responded Sam, executing a perfect three-point turn with arms extended. "Do I look like a demon to you?"

"No," granted the Slayer, "but I learned an important lesson a long time ago. Something about books and covers."

Sam took a tiny step backward.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," promised Buffy with sincerity.

Sam sighed. "Like I could even run in these heels." She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, I'm a demon. But I'm vegan," she assured emphatically. "Do you know how many grams of fat are in the average human torso?"

"EW," Buffy replied with a thoroughly disgusted expression.

"Okay, forget I asked."

"Why didn't Faith kill you?" questioned Buffy, a small frown creasing her forehead.

The demon snorted a laugh. "I've asked myself that question an awful lot today. I guess ..." She shrugged her slim shoulders . "I guess she didn't know. She thought I was human."

"Let's hope that line stays nice and unblurred," the Slayer whispered to herself as she turned and hurried out of the bar.

Watching the blonde's departure, Sam's exquisitely chiseled features transformed into an ugly sneer. She was obviously less than happy with Buffy, Buffy's friends, Buffy's casual acquaintances, Buffy's ancestors, and was apparently harboring just enough 'not happy' for any of Buffy's future progeny too. She sighed and reached for the broom, attacking the clean up issue with renewed vigor.

"I knew I should've bought 'in case of Slayer' insurance," she muttered with a final reproachful glare toward the door.

Tara lay on what was presumably ground, immersed once again in the darkness that had greeted her and Willow upon their arrival in the Super Slayer's mind. She was still, unmoving, not even twitching at the voices that echoed around her – a man and a woman. The sounds were hollow and tinny, like an ancient phonograph recording of the past.

"...talk about our feelings..."

"...destroys everything..."

"...please, no...god..."

"...bored now..."

As the last voice drifted away, Tara stirred and sat up with a groan before examining her surroundings. Her features crinkled into a frown as she realized she was alone.

"Willow?"

Tara sat nearly frozen, her ears straining for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she got to her feet and more thoroughly inspected the darkness. It remained as featureless as she had originally discovered, but then Tara spied something off to the side. Cautiously, but without hesitation, the blonde made her way toward it.

It was a mirror, identical to all those she had encountered thus far, save for the images it projected. Almost as though she were looking down from a second story window, Tara could see someone moving on the other side – Willow. Like Tara, the redhead appeared to be searching for something, her lips moving although it was impossible to hear what she was saying.

"Willow?" Tara tried again, raising her voice. "Can you hear me?"

The Willow in the reflection gave no indication that she heard anything at all and Tara moved closer still, reaching out toward the mirrored surface as she did so. Before contact could be made, Willow turned suddenly on her heel and hurried away until she was out of range and could no longer be seen. As though attempting to reach through to the woman on the other side, Tara extended her hand, fingers resting on the glass.

The instant her flesh made contact, an image materialized, perfectly mirroring Tara's posture as would be expected of a reflection – but instead of the blonde, the figure that appeared was Willow herself. Only this was not the Willow that Tara knew. This Willow was a cruel and twisted mockery, with jet-black hair, soulless eyes and tiny veins standing out against alabaster skin. The Willow in the mirror grinned maliciously at Tara, and the blonde ripped her hand away, stumbling back from the reflection that had already vanished in the absence of contact.

Tara barely noticed as she staggered past Madrigan, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere and without fanfare. He stood to the side, watching with great amusement, hands clasped casually behind his back. "Hey there," he greeted amicably.

Still fighting to calm her racing heartbeat, Tara looked at Madrigan through narrowed eyes. "You again."

"Me again," he confirmed cheerfully. "It's a small world, after all."

His attempt at light conversation died a quick and painless death. "Where's Willow?" demanded Tara, straightening and leveling her best glare at the mage.

Her intimidation techniques clearly had little effect. Rather than answer, Madrigan snorted a tiny chuckle. "Heh. Alliteration."

"Where is she?" the witch insisted, anger slipping into her tone.

With an abstract wave of his hand, Madrigan replied, "She's around. She's fine." He gave a small shrug. "Or, well, as fine as she ever can be, I suppose."

"I want to see her."

Madrigan gestured toward the mirror. "You just did. You're the one that pulled away, not her." A smirk formed on his lips and he tilted his head, regarding Tara thoughtfully. "That's par for the course though, isn't it?"

"That wasn't Willow," Tara vehemently denied. "That was some sort of evil ... " She swallowed down the slight tremor that had crept into her voice. "That wasn't her."

"Sure, you keep telling yourself that," replied the mage with a condescending laugh. "That was pretty much Willow: Unplugged. Something, isn't she?" he admired aloud.

It was clear Madrigan was alone in his feelings and Tara was quick to move on. "What do you want from us? This is ... This is some sort of- of game, is that it?"

"You can call it ... The Game of Life." There was a slight pause while he considered this with a frown. "No, wait, that one's taken ..."

"No more jokes!"

The strength of Tara's outburst appeared to echo in the void, but despite its abruptness, Madrigan didn't seem particularly surprised to have heard it.

The blonde took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I want to see Willow," she commanded in a tone that brooked no argument.

"All you had to do was ask."

Madrigan waved his hand toward Tara, and the previously empty space behind her suddenly became alight – a new mirror, complete with new images. Unlike the earlier appearance of a mute Willow searching in similar darkness, this vision contained both sight and sound.

The nightmare vision of Willow, her Dark half, was standing in the woods in the dead of night. Before her, tied by all four limbs to the trees that surrounded him, was Warren Mears. The man's shirt hung half open, and he twitched nervously, struggling helpless against his bonds. Glinting in the bright moonlight, hovering mere inches away from Warren's chest, was a small spinning metallic object.

"I think you need to," Dark Willow decided. "Feel it."

As though amplified a hundred times over, the sounds of squelching flesh assaulted Tara as the bullet was magickally driven into Warren at a snail's pace. The man's helpless whimpering – not quite screaming due to the thick black sutures that had sewn his lips together – joined the macabre symphony, and Tara recoiled violently from the mirror.

"I don't want to see this!" she cried out, eyes squeezed tightly shut in an effort to block the images.

"Of course you don't," soothed Madrigan, gazing at Tara like a parent dishing out a painful but necessary punishment. "Ignoring things you don't like is one of your favorite pastimes. But it's okay if you don’t want to watch. We a have a nifty audio track too."

Suddenly the area exploded into chaos – Warren begging for mercy, Willow's screams of rage and pain, Buffy pleading with Willow to stop, Willow taunting Giles – these were just a few of the sounds that stood out in the pandemonium.

Grinding her teeth together, Tara's hands clamped over her ears, but no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to block the sounds. Her lids flew open and she glared at Madrigan with barely contained fury. "Stop it!!"

Almost before she had finished shouting her command, the area was again blanketed in silence, even the image in the mirror fading away to reveal only seamless darkness.

"I already forgave her for this!" Tara exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

Madrigan brushed the argument aside. "Forgiving is the easy part. Forgetting ... that's a bit harder." He smirked cruelly. "Sometimes."

To Tara's right, yet another mirror glowed to life, featuring an image of Willow dressed in a long-sleeved pajama top. In her hand was a dried flower and on her face was a cool, almost detached expression.

"Forget," the mirror image intoned as the flower glowed with imbued power.

Madrigan's voice pulled Tara's attention away from the past. "Have you ever wondered how it might've turned out if you lived?" he inquired thoughtfully.

Lips forming a tight line, the witch considered Madrigan with angry eyes. "We're done here," she declared with finality. Saying nothing more, Tara turned and walked in the opposite direction, but she'd gotten no more than five paces before Madrigan was there again, his posture unchanged. Surprised, Tara stopped short, and the mage continued as though her outburst had never occurred.

"Though I guess time's a bit messy for you, isn't it?" he pondered. "I mean, as far as you can tell, the two of you just made up a couple months ago."

Tara spun around as another mirror flashed to life, depicting her and Willow in their room at the Summers' house. Willow was perched on the edge of the bed, picking nervously at the coverlet as reflection-Tara, clad in a dark leather jacket, continued her speech.

"It's a long, important process and ... can we just skip it?"

This time, Tara voluntarily turned from the memory, her jaw set determinedly. She didn't speak, she simply stomped away. As with before, she got no more than a few paces before Madrigan was there.

"Can you really skip over all that stuff, though?" the mage questioned. "The lying, the mind-rape ..."

At that word choice, Tara looked at him sharply, but Madrigan was unrepentant.

"The darkness is in her," he persisted. "I mean, you know that, you can feel it. She's not just walking on the edge, she's doing a freaking Irish jig on it. How much do you think it'd take for her to take a big ol' swan dive over?" Madrigan curved his hand in an arc, a pantomime of just such a dramatic trajectory.

"Willow won't do that again!" protested Tara with conviction. "She- She knows what she's capable of and she would never—"

Madrigan cocked a knowing eyebrow. "Never?"

Another mirror flashed to life, displaying Dark Willow standing atop Kingman's Bluff in the bright light of a new day. The magicks swirled and flowed around her, sucking the life force from everything it touched in an ever-increasing circle of death.

Turning back to Tara, Madrigan wore a satisfied smirk. "Never say never."

Clearly it would take more than that to shake Tara's faith – or at the very least, make her doubts rise to the surface. "Willow's stronger now," the blonde told him in a firm tone. "She's seen the darkest part of herself and she beat it."

There was no immediate retort to Tara's refusal, simply the same expression Madrigan had been wearing – one that hinted of being gifted with true understanding, and delighting in the fact that he alone was enlightened. The mirror containing the image of Dark Willow disappeared and another faded into life nearby. Unlike those that had come before, this was a moment unfamiliar to Tara and she looked on warily as the scene unfolded.

It soon became evident that what was being shown was the final act in a much longer work. Willow stood in a graveyard, only her back and slumped, defeated shoulders visible. Her shirt was ripped and torn, blood oozing from wounds that looked deep but not fatal. Willow paid them no mind.

Buffy approached slowly from out of the darkness, looking to have taken the brunt of the battle. She limped painfully, her face barely visible discernable a roadmap of cuts and bruises. Her arm dangled uselessly at her side, her other hand clutching a double-headed battleaxe with white knuckles that hadn't yet received the message that the fight was over. The Slayer ignored all of this, however, her gaze locked onto her friend. "Willow ..."

There was no response. Willow didn't give even the slightest indication that she had heard. As Buffy came closer, she followed the redhead's line of sight, her face crumpling at the image before her.

Despite being the dead of night, there was enough illumination to make out the figure on the ground with perfect clarity. It was Tara, her eyes open and staring up at the sky, glassy and unseeing. A raw and gaping wound at her neck showed where her throat had been viciously ripped out and blood drenched her clothes, bathing them in a too-dark red. Oddly enough, her face was relatively untouched by either stain or injury, and if one were able to blot out the grotesque injuries just below, it might have looked as though she were simply sleeping. Were it not for her vacant, lifeless eyes.

"God ... Tara ..." Buffy choked as Xander approached the scene.

Like the others, Xander bore the marks of an intense battle, but his attentions were focused entirely on the tableau before him. "Oh no ..." he whispered, shaking his head against the images that assailed him.

Through all of this, Willow had not moved, had not twitched. Buffy turned to her with an expression filled with pain. "Willow, I—"

"Shut up."

The words were spit from behind teeth clenched together with such force it seemed they might almost crack under the pressure. Willow turned to Buffy, her cheeks soaked with tears. But Willow wasn't crying any more. There were no tears left in the solid black eyes that focused on the Slayer.

"You didn't save her," Willow accused.

Once the words had been spoken, it was as if a dam had burst in the witch and her rage began to infuse every fiber of her being. Starting from the roots, the usually vibrant red of Willow's hair gave way to inky blackness. "You didn't save her."

Buffy attempted to explain, her voice pained and guilty. "I tried. They were ... There were just too many of them, and I couldn't—"

"No more excuses," interrupted Willow with cold finality. "That's two you owe me."

As soon as the words had been spoken, the witch's eyes flared. Bright embers of pure hellfire appeared in their centers, and suddenly Buffy was burning. She barely had time to realize what was happening before the intensity increased to such a degree that, within seconds, both Buffy and the flame had dissipated. Nothing was left save for a few ashes that drifted slowly to the scorched earth.

Willow gazed upon the remains with no trace of emotion. "It's time I collect," she concluded.

Just slightly behind her, Xander's eye bulged in his socket in complete disbelief. "Oh god, Buffy ..." he murmured in complete horror before affixing his gaze on the witch. "Willow, what did you do to her?"

His words served but one purpose, however – to attract Willow's attention. She turned toward her oldest friend with nothing like affection; her eyes were as dead as Tara's. "I'll show you," she offered in a flat voice, and then Xander was also afire. It took only a second, then he was gone.

"I should never have let you stop me the first time," Willow told the space where Xander had been. She turned to regard the body on the ground – the only one left to bear witness. Willow stared at Tara for a long moment, seeming to memorize the image at her feet before it too was consumed by flames.

"We'll all join you soon, love."

Madrigan stepped in front of the mirror with a beaming smile, snapping the mounting tension into a dozen tiny pieces as he regarded Tara with anticipation. "What did you think? Now be honest – it's my first wholly independent film."

He waited expectantly for the blonde's response, heedless of the fact that she was hugging herself tightly, tears trickling down her cheeks. "She couldn't do that again," Tara stated, though the strength of her conviction had noticeably dipped.

The answering chuckle was filled with something akin to affection at her naivety. "Murder's only hard the first time."

Defiantly, Tara shook her head. "No. The memory of what she did, how it felt ... She's sorry for what she did."

"You really believe that, don’t you?" Noting the blonde's confidence in her statement, even if shaken, Madrigan couldn't seem to resist making a little noise, as though Tara were fashioned from all the cutest things in the entire world. "That's so adorable."

This seemed to jolt Tara back into place, her beliefs now reinforced with anger. "Don't patronize me," she snapped. "You think you know Willow? You don't know anything about her."

"I know she's never lost one second of sleep for Filet o' Warren," Madrigan retorted matter-of-factly. "Do you honestly think she regrets skinning your murderer alive? Come on, Miss Maclay, you're far too practical for that."

Tara looked like she wanted to tell Madrigan he was wrong. She wanted to do that more than anything. But she couldn't.

Madrigan's lips curved upward in a smile. "There's my girl," he congratulated like a proud father on graduation day. He began to pace again, his hands clasped behind his back. "Here's what I think you think, and correct me if I'm way off base here. You believe she's strong enough, that it won't get the better of her, right? You're thinking she'll ... pick you over the magicks?" The mage chuckled at the thought. "She doesn’t exactly have a good track record for that though, does she? And even if she does, how does that work if you're not there any more?"

"I believe in Willow," was the simple reply.

"Well see, I do too," agreed Madrigan, "which is why it's so cool that we can talk like this. What I believe in though is the real Willow." He shot a smirk at Tara. "That'd be the one you were telling yourself couldn't exist. Ah, but now you know better, don't you?"

Coming to a halt, Madrigan glanced over his shoulder as another mirror appeared. This one showed Willow, dark eyed and raging at Buffy, who was pinned helplessly against the wall of Willow's room in Trillium. As the Slayer's hands scrabbled at her throat, neither paid any attention to the Tara in that scene, visible just behind Willow. A long, black-handled dagger was clasped tightly in that Tara's fist, poised and ready to plunge between Willow's shoulder blades.

Still smirking, Madrigan turned back to the real Tara. "Yeah, you know better."

If replaying recent events was intended to wear down the blonde, Madrigan was bitterly disappointed. Instead, the memory seemed to give Tara strength and renewed her confidence. "I saw her take control. She's stronger than the power, and you know what?" Tilting her head at the mage, Tara echoed his knowing smile. "She's stronger than you, too."

Madrigan absorbed this information and seemed to process it, mulling it over in his mind as he began to murmur to himself. "She just might be. Wouldn't that be something?" Snapping out of his musings, his inhuman eyes again found Tara, unaffected by her certainty. "But there's someone out there I don't think she can resist for too long. Wanna guess who?"

For the first time, Tara suddenly looked afraid. "Me?"

"Ehhh!" responded the mage, doing his best imitation of a game show buzzer. "Ooo, but nice try."

Stepping to one side, Madrigan all but removed himself from the focus of Tara's attentions, just as another mirror began to glow. Tara turned toward it as a figure materialized from within. Her brow was furrowed in a confusion that soon died as recognition took its place.

Tara took a step backward as Dark Willow smirked from behind the glassy surface. Willow glanced up, examining the reflective prison with vague interest before she stepped forward and out of the mirror entirely. Now every bit as real as Tara, Dark Willow's eyes lit upon the blonde and she smiled.

"Hey baby," she greeted, her voice oozing a familiarity that caused a shiver to run up Tara's spine. "Miss me?"