Hands thrust deep into his pockets, Giles walked one of Slayer Central's main hallways. His stride was purposeful but lacking in urgency. Wherever he was bound, the Watcher was obviously in no great rush to reach his destination. He stopped abruptly at the sound of his name being called and turned to see Xander rapidly approaching.

"Come with me," was the carpenter's command.

Giles was puzzled. "Xander, what...?"

But Xander had already spun on his heel and was returning back down the corridor. The Watcher hurried after the departing figure as Xander disappeared around a corner. Increasing his pace, Giles sped toward the intersection and then came to an abrupt halt as he saw the carpenter simply waiting just beyond, leaning against the wall.

"Okay, change of plan," admitted Xander. He looked Giles squarely in the eye. "I was gonna hit you just now. But it won't actually make me feel any better, and it occurs to me that we don't really have time for that. They always said that it's the thought that counts, though. So know I was thinkin' about it real hard."

Giles returned the challenging stare. "I assume this is for earlier?"

Xander did not waver. "This is why you're the smart guy."

"I'm sorry," the older man began, "but I—"

Pushing himself away from the wall, Xander forcefully interrupted. "No. No, 'sorry' is what you say when you spill someone's drink or hit 'em with a football." The carpenter jabbed his finger toward Giles. "'Sorry' is not what you say when you deliberately punch someone in the face."

Giles also pulled himself up to his full height, not wilting beneath the angry glare. "All right," he admitted, "I'm not sorry for hitting you. But I am sorry that it's clearly upset you so much."

"Upset me so much?" Xander let loose with a scathing chuckle. "Giles, you broadcast it pretty loud and clear that I had nothing to offer. I was better off sitting on the sidelines with the minor and someone who I think may in fact have been in high school when life took its first tentative step out of the ocean. I'm not sure 'upset' begins to cover it."

Expression softening just a little, Giles allowed his posture to relax slightly. "I didn't mean anything quite like that. Simply ... These girls are dangerous, Xander. They can and will kill you without a second thought."

"Right," the carpenter retorted bitterly, "and that's so different from the normal stuff that likes to kill me how?" Clearly building up a good head of steam by this point, Xander continued, "I spent years – multiple increments of 365-day chunks – doing nothing but wanting to help. I've milked the 'I'm useless' card for all it's worth, and I do not plan to revisit." His rant on pause for just a moment, Xander seemed to be challenging the Watcher to refute his declaration.

Giles was hesitant with his response. "There are ... things. Experiences ..."

In a flash, the image of the captive Super Slayer appeared before his eyes, her head thrown back in agony – he saw himself standing in front of a table, the girl seated behind him, head slumped heavily upon her chest, as he wiped a cloth along a long, thin serrated blade which glistened with freshly-drawn blood.

Blinking the visions from his mind, Giles concentrated upon Xander's determined face. "Situations that you – none of you – should have to go through."

"Which is sweet, don't get me wrong," the carpenter was willing to concede, "but I think we're old enough to make those decisions for ourselves. You don't have to protect us."

Presumably, Giles had no appropriate response. Instead, he began to rub absently at his knuckles. Xander regarded the bruised and swollen joints with a tiny frown.

"Got that from me, huh?" he questioned, his voice taking on a note of false pride. The Watcher neither confirmed nor denied the accusation, but Xander pressed on regardless. "Good strong bones. Guess Mom was onto something when she made me drink all that milk."

The shadow of a smile crossed Giles' lips, but failed to reach his eyes.

"Don't try to keep me out of this," warned Xander, the weak moment of levity past. "I'm not just gonna wave a pom-pom chanting 'Go Team Go' while you, an' Buffy an' Willow an' everyone do something." He pointed a cautioning finger at Giles. "If you try that again, I'll knock you on your ass. I mean it."

For a long moment, Giles considered both Xander's sobering statement and the carpenter's grave expression. He smiled with genuine admiration. "You'd hit a man with glasses?"

"Please," scoffed Xander, "you have four times the number of eyes. You get no play from me, my friend."

Giles nodded in reluctant agreement. "No. I suppose that's fair." He met the carpenter's steady stare without faltering. "I won't keep you out of the fight Xander, I promise." The wheels appeared to be visibly turning in Giles' mind as he added, "In fact, I think I have just the task for you ..."

Within one of the forested areas on the outskirts of Trillium, Buffy was on the prowl. Although her concentration was focused intently upon her search, she could not fail to sense that she too was being stalked. To anyone observing the scene, it would have impossible to discern prey from predator.

With eyes narrowed, the blonde Slayer stopped moving and stood up straight. "Faith ..." she murmured, ears cocked for the slightest sound. "I know you're out here. I know you can hear me."

All was silence as Buffy began to turn in a slow circle. She made another attempt.

"Listen," she continued with heartfelt sympathy. "I know this hurts. Bad. I know it feels like the whole world is collapsing and like nothing is ever going to be the same again. But Faith, you shouldn't be alone. We can help you. What you need is—"

Buffy's words of consolation came to an abrupt halt as a figure leapt from the overhead treetops and landed nimbly behind her. Instinctively, the blonde whirled to be met by a boot that lashed out and connected solidly with her jaw. Sent sprawling to the ground, Buffy was momentarily stunned. Before she could assess her bearings, the breath was knocked from her body and she found herself firmly pinned. As the blonde's vision cleared, she discovered she was staring up at Faith. Straddling Buffy, the dark-haired Slayer's knees had immobilized Buffy's shoulders while her hands kept a tight grip upon the blonde's wrists. Nonetheless, Buffy made no move to extricate herself.

"Know what I need?" snarled Faith, declining to wait for a response before adding, "A good Slay."

She drew back her hand and clenched it into an enraged fist before bearing down with a punch aimed directly at Buffy's face.

All senses on alert, Willow carefully examined the featureless darkness that enveloped her on all sides, doing her best to take stock of her surroundings. "Tara?" she called out hopefully. "Hello? Anybody?"

There was a decided lack of response, and Willow added to herself, "Well maybe not just anybody – I mean I haven't really met anybody here I'd like to see again but ..." She raised her voice once more. "Tara?"

Eventually, a promising reply reached her ears from somewhere far away. There was no mistaking its owner – it was Tara.

"Willow ..."

The redhead whirled. "Tara? Don't move!" she urged. "Just- Just stay there, I'll come find you!"

Without further hesitation, Willow hurried in her search, led by the echo of the blonde's voice, still eerily lingering. Even in her eagerness to seek out Tara, the redhead continued to survey the all-pervading darkness with some curiosity. "And if I could find me at the same time, that'd be really swell," she muttered softly.

Steadily increasing her pace, Willow pressed forward with great determination. She had not gone much further when Madrigan appeared beside her, matching the redhead's stride with uncanny precision.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked cheerfully.

She gave him a cursory glance and refused to be awed at his sudden presence. "Oh, it's you," she practically sneered. "I don't have time for you."

Madrigan recoiled with comic exaggeration. "Ohh, re-jec-ted. Dude, lemme tell you, if my friend was here? He'd be going on about this for months." He chewed the statement for a moment before adding, "Well not verbally ..."

Completely ignoring Madrigan's grin, Willow's pace did not lessen. She simply kept moving forward, almost as though to engage him in conversation would be a gross waste of time. "Tara needs me," was her only response, and that was clipped and curtly delivered.

Madrigan didn't seem to take undue offense. "That right?"

"She's waiting for me."

With a brief and amused snort of irony, Madrigan was suddenly holding something in his hand. "Think fast," he advised, tossing the item in Willow's direction.

Acting on instinct, Willow plucked the object from the air and came to a halt in order to examine it more closely. Her forehead crinkled with curiosity. It was a bottle fashioned of opaque red glass, sporting a long neck and squat bottom, relatively small and unremarkable, save for a rather attractive brass cork.

Willow shot Madrigan a puzzled look. "What's—"

"Oh, that was Miss Maclay's home for, eh – about a month, give or take," he replied casually.

"What?" the witch responded incredulously as she scrutinized the bottle.

"Well, her spiritual home," the mage amended. "Had to keep her somewhere while we fixed her body, didn't we?"

Unwilling to believe her ears, Willow seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the bottle in her hands. "You kept Tara in ..."

"In that very bottle," confirmed Madrigan, pointing to the artifact. "Handy little things. The warlocks who make 'em got all wiped out in some war a couple hundred years back, so be careful with that, they're hard to replace." His cautioning eyebrow had little effect as Willow was transfixed on the glass. "Same sort of basic principle they use for djinn though – binds the spirit, but keeps the personality and all that good stuff intact. Whew, soul energy? Not easy to keep together once you harness it. Though I guess you know a little bit about that." He grinned admiringly at the redhead.

Turning the bottle within her hands, Willow's gaze was distant. "Keeping her together ... " she pondered, her mind churning with the implications. A sudden thought struck her and looked at Madrigan with horror. "So she knew?"

"About being in the bottle?" The mage bobbed his head back and forth in a gesture that said 'sorta'. "Not necessarily knew knew. I mean, if you could've asked her where she was, she could really only tell you 'trapped'." He slowly shook his head in profound sympathy. "I don't think it was too pleasant. Is she still having the nightmares?"

Willow's face crumpled as her expression became wounded.

"Oh you don't know," he concluded with a pitying expression.

"She never ... " began the redhead miserably. "She hasn't talked about it."

"Well she probably just doesn't want to make you feel bad," he offered by way of consolation.

The witch's eyes drifted back to the bottle in her hands as Madrigan continued to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

"I think probably the week before she took her first breath was the worst," he relayed with some regret. "See, you can't just slam a soul back into its previously dead body like that without running a serious risk of snapping the mind altogether, especially not a body as far gone as Miss Maclay. Vampires, they've got the demon to help cushion things a little bit, but a regular human? Once they're gone, they're gone. Not really meant to get a curtain call, you know? That's why zombies and stuff aren't really big with the higher brain functions." He chuckled with amazement. "Makes what you did to your friend Buffy seriously darned impressive, lemme tell you."

He watched Willow carefully for some sign of reaction to his words of praise, but there was none. The redhead could do nothing but stare at the bottle, lost in thought. With a dismissive shrug, Madrigan resumed his informative tale.

"So anyway, if you can't put 'em all back at once, the secret is to start funneling the mind into the body during the final stages of regrowth. Just in chunks, so they don't drive themselves mad with the pain, but—" He stopped as Willow whipped her head in his direction.

"Why?" she demanded with a withering glare, tears stinging her eyes. "You would ... You hurt her like that just to kill me?"

Yellow eyes blinked innocently. "You wish we hadn't brought her back?" He chuckled in disbelief. "You're honestly telling me you'd rather her body still be rotting away into nothing beneath a collapsed Hellmouth. Cuz I mean, if you'd really rather have that ..."

He gestured toward the redhead, and a mirror faded into sight behind her. Its surface illuminated instantly, revealing a Tara who was isolated within her own patch of darkness. Raising his hand, crackling energy began to form around the flesh, building in intensity before its inevitable release.

Willow's eyes grew wide with panicked horror. "No! No, please!" she entreated.

Madrigan immediately acquiesced. He lowered his hand and the mirrored image vanished. As though there had been no interruption at all, his dissertation continued. "It was all pretty easy, actually," he confided, not bothering to disguise his cockiness. "Relatively speaking. For you I guess it's simple, but I think we can all agree that you wreck the hell outta the curve. Most of us, though, finding just the right soul is tricky business. And you don't wanna go putting the wrong soul in the wrong body, that's just ..." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Well, it's just unpleasant for everyone."

"Easy?" queried Willow sharply. "What did— If it was so easy, why ..."

Madrigan had anticipated the question. "Why couldn't you do it?" He cast a sideways glance at the redhead. "Who says you couldn't have if you'd looked in the right places."

Willow's expression became a jumble of conflicting emotions and it was obvious that she truly didn't know quite what to think.

The mage waited for a moment, then sensing that no response would be forthcoming any time soon, he pressed on. "But with Miss Maclay, she was right there. When a human dies, their soul moves through a sort of ..." He waved a dismissive hand. "Eh, the specifics of it all is pretty boring. Hell dimension, heavenly dimension ... Typically speaking, you wind up in one or the other, and the mechanics of both are mostly the same. It's a dimension, that's really all that matters, and I know a little something about dimensions. So when I first went looking for Miss Maclay, it surprised the crap outta me that she wasn't where I thought she'd be. I thought maybe you or someone else had beat me to her, but nope. I was just looking too many steps ahead – she'd never gotten far enough to pick where to go. Girl was pushing right at the edges of our world, just sorta hovering there." Madrigan's voice took on a wistful, almost nostalgic note. His hand reached up slowly, gently. "All I had to do was reach in—" His fist clenched around nothing at all. "—and take her."

The dramatic soliloquy complete, he turned to Willow with a beaming smile of accomplishment, not flinching at her undisguised expression of loathing.

"So you took her out of peace and you put her through hell," seethed the redhead.

Madrigan pondered on this then shrugged. "From a 'glass half empty' viewpoint, sure."

"Why?" spat Willow viciously.

But the mage didn't provide an answer. Instead, he focused on a point over Willow's shoulder with an air expression of rapt interest. There were the sounds of someone gasping for breath – frantically sucking in one lungful of air, closely followed by another ragged rasp. Spinning toward the source of the distressing noises, Willow was met with the image of an almost skeletal Tara lying on what appeared to be a medical examination table. The pitiful body had very little muscle tone and Willow visibly winced with pain at the sight.

As the redhead watched through unheeded tears, Tara took yet another deep breath. Her eyes slowly opened – eyes reflecting unspeakable suffering within a pallid face that was drawn, weary and almost totally drained. The lips moved but the vocal chords, mute for so long, obviously struggled against the demand. When she was finally able to speak, Tara's voice sounded ancient and was little more than a croak. Willow moved closer to the image, her expression almost mirroring that of the blonde. She strained her ears to catch the whispered word.

"Willow ..."

And then, Tara became swallowed once more by the empty darkness.

Madrigan sighed. "That was her first word in this new life." He looked toward Willow. "Ah. It just gets me here." He thumped upon his chest where resided his heart.

Willow's trembling hand seemed locked in place, extended toward the area where the mirror displaying Tara's piteous image had recently been, as though she were trying to reach into the past and ease Tara's agony by sheer force of will. She didn't turn at Madrigan's remark.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Her voice was deceptively calm.

Madrigan shrugged nonchalantly. "I just think it's important for you to understand."

Still, Willow did not face him. "Understand what?"

"That this is all your fault."

Faith's well-aimed punch met its target with solid ferocity and Buffy's head snapped sickly to one side. Before she could fully recover, another was landed with equal force as an expression of nearly blind rage crossed Faith's face. She drew back in preparation for a third, but Buffy managed to kick Faith aside before the trio of intended attacks was successfully accomplished.

"Okay," warned the blonde as she got to her feet, a trickle of blood oozing from her bottom lip, "that's about enough of that."

"Whassa matter, B?" asked Faith with raised fists as she hopped lightly on her toes. "Thought you were gonna help me. Helpin's what we do, right?"

Buffy probed her mouth gingerly with her tongue. "Help you, yes. Let you beat my face into hamburger, not so much." She leveled a threatening stare in the direction of the dark-haired Slayer.

"What can I say?" Faith shot back. "I got anger issues."

Her eyes narrowed as she launched another assault, but this time Buffy was ready and easily avoided contact. The blonde Slayer seemed bent on defensive maneuvers only – for the time being at least – effectively curbing the instinctive desire to counter attack.

"C'mon," scoffed Faith disdainfully, "this ain't gonna be nearly so satisfying if you don't at least gimme a little challenge."

Buffy shook her head. "I'm not going to fight you, Faith."

"Sure you will," came the sardonic response. "Fighting's all we're good for."

She lashed out again but Buffy was more than prepared and blocked the blow, knocking Faith off-balance and sending the dark-haired woman sprawling to the ground, face first.

Gazing down at Faith with sympathy, Buffy responded with quiet determination. "It's not all we are. Not anymore."

Faith rolled onto her back. "Right," she readily agreed with a humorless laugh. "Then there's the dying, can't forget that." She sprang to her feet and regarded Buffy with something akin to madness reflected in her eyes. It was plain at that moment that the dark-haired Slayer was literally hanging by a thread and Buffy was acutely aware of the fact.

"I'm gonna make this simple:" Faith informed Buffy in a flat tone. "You take me down, or I give you a permanent dirt nap. My guess?" She shrugged, a cruel grin on her face. "Third time for you might just be the charm."

The blonde crossed her arms, looking nauseated. "Suicide by Slayer? Is that what this is? You couldn't find a vamp nest to do it for you, so you're looking for me to be your judge, jury and executioner?"

Faith smiled bitterly. "Got the first two covered, thanks."

"You disgust me," came the clipped reply.

"There's a news flash."

Buffy took a step forward. "Faith, you don't deserve to die—"

"Hazel didn't deserve to die," the dark-haired Slayer snapped. She dropped her arms, although the fists remained clenched at her sides. She cast her eyes upward at the darkening sky. "She was ... For Christ's sake, B, she was sixteen years old. And she ... It was supposed to be me. Judith came for us, an' she was tryin' to ..." Her head slumped. "It was supposed to be me."

Buffy ventured even closer. "This isn't your fault."

"No, see, it is," replied Faith. She regarded Buffy seriously. "I went and got her. I walked into her house, stood in her living room, an' gave the whole sales pitch. I convinced her to come here. She was one'a my girls, an' it was my job to teach her to be a Slayer." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's rule number one, B?"

Buffy warily extended a hand. "Fai—"

"What's rule number one?!" shouted Faith. Buffy involuntarily recoiled.

"Don't die," she whispered.

Faith nodded emphatically. "Don't die." Her lips tightened. "I didn't even teach her the first freaking rule."

Spinning on her heel, Faith drove her fist into a nearby tree. The impact was so savage that the bark immediately flattened beneath the force of the blow. Splinters of wood spewed out on all sides, but Buffy refused to react in kind to the violent outburst and maintained her air of calm.

"Hazel was a good Slayer," she reminded.

"If she was a good Slayer, she'd still be here, wouldn't she?" challenged Faith, delivering another brutal blast to the tree trunk. "So go ahead – tell me again it's not my fault. More'n that ..." She turned slowly to face the blonde. "Tell me how it's not your fault."

"My fault?" echoed an incredulous Buffy.

"Your idea, wasn't it?" snarled Faith. "Awaken all the Slayers, make 'em fight our battles for us?"

Buffy was quick to refute the accusation and her eyes narrowed to little more than slits. "It wasn't like that. You were there, you saw what we were up against. I didn't have any choice, I had to—"

"Where was their choice?" questioned Faith with scorn. "I remember, you know – you whinin' all the time 'bout destiny an' not asking to be the Slayer. Funny how you had no problem changing the lives of a few hundred girls."

Crossing her arms, Buffy flatly responded, "That was different."

"Always is with you," Faith shot back. "Oh, but don't worry – I got plenty of blame for everyone," the brunette grinned madly and spread her arms wide to encompass the world. "Your plan, yeah, but Red's the one who did it. Giles got us this cushy set up play with his personal toy soldiers ..."

"You're so anxious to blame someone?" rejoined the blonde. "How about putting it where it belongs?"

Faith's expression darkened, a murderous gleam appearing in her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm saving the super-sized portion for Judith."

Buffy shook her head. "I'm not talking about Judith or Robespierre, or me, or Willow, or Giles, or you. I'm talking about Hazel."

Faith's expression became ugly. "Blame the dead girl? And I disgust you?"

"She's who you're really mad at," accused Buffy with a steady gaze.

"Transference, that it?" returned Faith bitterly. "Got an earful of that psychoanalytic crap at the girl's school. Figured it was full of it then, too."

"It was Hazel's choice to protect you," the blonde insisted. "Hazel chose to die for you."

Faith's fists clenched even tighter. "Shut up."

The command was ignored. "And that's what's killing you. It wasn't that you didn't teach her how to be a Slayer ..."

"Shut up."

"... it's that you taught her too well."

Faith could take no more. With a bellow of primal, uncontrolled rage, she lunged and seized Buffy around the waist, bringing them both crashing heavily to the ground.

With deliberate slowness, Willow lowered her hand from the mirrored surface and finally turned to face her accuser. "All my fault?" she echoed.

"What else do you think she stuck around for, the in-flight movie?" Madrigan countered with a touch of sarcasm. "You gotta lotta blame on your shoulders, kiddo. Let's see ..." He began to check off the pertinent facts. "You insisted she be part of the 'Scooby Gang' and the oh-so exciting life you all lead. Given front seat on the Crazy Bus thanks to Glorificus ... and you, of course," he added with a gesture to the redhead, "since you'd just gotten all defensive and weren't there to protect her." He frowned with concentration, tapping his fingers against the perpetual stubble on his chin. "What else, what else ... Well, there's always your little game of forget-me-not that sent her running in the opposite direction. And if you hadn't made her leave, there would've been no big reunion, so you probably wouldn't have been in the bedroom when Mr. Mears—"

"Okay!" Willow exclaimed throwing her hands into the air and letting them drop against her legs with a loud smack. "Okay, fine, i-i-it's all my fault! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Shrugging his shoulders, the mage appeared nonchalant. "It'll do for starters."

"Good," confirmed the redhead bitterly. "Great. Fine. Bye."

Turning, Willow resumed marching in the direction she had been going before Madrigan had appeared with his game of catch and visual roadblock. He watched her determined stride with some amusement but made no attempt to stop her or even follow. She hadn't gone very far before the sounds of weeping invaded her ears. A tiny frown creased her forehead as her pace slowed.

"Tara?" she called, peering into the blanket of darkness.

The crying became more intense and Willow strained to identify the owner. Her eyes widened with horror as realization hit like a sledgehammer. "Dawn?" Her tone held a hint of panic. "Dawn, where are you, honey? Can you hear me?"

The answering voice seemed to originate from some distance away, but the words could be heard with much clarity, even though they were interspersed with heart-wrenching sobs.

"How could you?" was the despairing inquiry. "We love you."

The declaration was quickly followed by a woman's laugh – deep and spiked with malevolence. There was a brief scream from Dawn, but it was swiftly stifled.

"Dawn?!" Willow called out desperately, taking another step forward.

"I thought you were leaving?" came Madrigan's taunt from behind.

Whirling, Willow's posture became entirely offensive. Her hand struck out as though she were casting a spell, but nothing materialized. She blinked with surprise as Madrigan chuckled with infinite amusement.

"You're in the mental playground," he pointed out with a grin. "I think you'll find your magick's not gonna do you much good here. Which sucks for you, cuz really – without that, what've you got?" He treated Willow to a questioning gaze and waited for a satisfactory answer.

Willow, however, was ignoring the question. "Where is Dawn?" she demanded.

The mage waved dismissively. "Oh, she's not here, you know that. It's all in your mind." He snickered to himself at the word choice, quite obviously chuffed with his own brand of humor.

"I've had enough of this," the witch announced, her anger almost tangible it was so intense. "Give me back Tara. Now."

Throwing her a 'sure, what the hell' look, Madrigan gestured cordially at the space next to him, resulting in a mirrored surface immediately becoming illuminated.

The scene that appeared was one of total devastation, but still instantly recognizable. It was the Scoobies' living room in Trillium, but practically each stick of furniture had been demolished and every window smashed. Kneeling in the center of the ruination was Dawn, tears coursing down her cheeks as she surveyed the wreckage. Beside what remained of the couch, the broken body of Giles lay upon the carpet in a pool of blood, eyes already glazed and lacking the spark of life. Nearby was Xander, also still and unmoving, though the body was thankfully face down and hiding features that now undoubtedly bore a death mask. Obviously badly injured, Dawn began to drag herself in agonizingly slow movements toward another body. With a shaking, outstretched hand, the teenager reached for the prone body of her sister, but then suddenly looked upward with a horrified expression.

"You," she whispered fearfully.

Leisurely stepping into view, as though she had all the time in the world, was Tara – or some nightmarish creature who had once been Tara. Her hair was black as night and ebony eyes shone like polished carbon. The skin was smooth and flawless, glowing with a pale but vital luminance and the svelte figure was clad entirely in white. The bodice of the low-cut satin gown was a form-fitting bustier. The flowing fabric flared from the hips, falling in graceful folds to the ankles. The fingernails and cupid-bow lips were painted scarlet and the effect of the gleaming tresses, which framed the enchanting face to nestle intimately upon the creamy flesh of the bare shoulders, was breathtaking. This was a Tara comprised of pure contrast – the light and the dark. It was all too apparent which side now assumed dominance.

Tara looked down at Dawn, paying no need to the teenager's battered and bleeding body. "Hey, sweetie," she breathed, a serene smile touching her lips before glancing at the bodies of first Giles and then Xander. Her gaze briefly rested on Buffy and then returned to the shivering teenager. "You're the last one standing," she remarked, tone soft but deadly. "Sort of makes me proud. Surprised maybe, but proud."

Dawn choked back a sob. "How could you do this to them?" she demanded in a broken voice.

Sighing heavily, a tiny furrow appeared between Tara's dark eyebrows. "It's always about everyone else, is that it?" Sounding bored, it was as if Tara had pondered the deepest mysteries of this question for year after year. "I have my place in the group dynamic and I'm supposed to say in character. Supportive Tara, good girlfriend Tara ..." The words which followed were virtually spat forth from the sneering mouth. "Sweet. Little. Tara."

With a movement so swift it was almost a blur, she lashed out with her magicks, lifting Dawn into the air and slamming her against the wall where the teenager remained pinned like an impaled butterfly. Though obviously terrified, Dawn's expression revealed both anger and immense sorrow.

"It wasn't like that!" she offered sincerely. "You weren't important for some role, you were important for you, and we—"

Tara rolled her inscrutable and unsympathetic eyes. "Dawn? Shut up."

The teenager's mouth continued to move soundlessly. Shock crept across her features as she realized both the futility of her pleas and her inability to provide them voice.

Taking great care, Tara shook out the folds of her gown. "God, I've been wanting to say that for years." She sighed with contentment as she considered the massacre that surrounded her on all sides. "You know, at first I was just so excited to have a place to belong, I think I would've gone along with just about anything to keep in with 'the Scoobies'. Wow, you know? Actually having friends – big new concept." Turning in a slow circle, Tara was clearly unmoved by the destruction of all she had once held dear. "But I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, Dawnie, and I've come to an important conclusion: You're all holding me back."

Her head snapped around to shoot the teenager a look of total derision from over her shoulder. "Especially you."

Dawn's struggles were fruitless and only barely noticeable as Tara tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear and completed her inspection of the damage. "What was I playing at?" she mused aloud. "Being a big sister? Mom-figure? I don't even know. What do you think?"

Coming to a stop, she tilted her head to one side and waited expectantly for an answer. Dawn's mouth persisted in its effort to form words, but none could be vocalized. Once more Tara rolled her eyes at the trials she was forced to endure, then waved indifferently in her hostage's direction.

"—help you," Dawn spluttered in mid-sentence. "Tara, please. You don't want to do this."

Tara chuckled in a way that might have been considered friendly, were it not for the complete absence of any humor or humanity in her bottomless eyes. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I do," she corrected. "I think we've dragged this out long enough. Once upon a time, sitting here and chatting to you all day would've ... been torture, honestly." She shook her head in amused disbelief at countless wasted hours. "But I would've done it anyway. New Me is sorta low on patience, though. I mean, there's a whole world out there that I haven't even lived in yet. I think it's about time to call it a day."

She flashed the teenager one of her trademark half-grins, but it appeared to have been painted on her lips with a brush dipped in consummate evil. The implication was not lost on Dawn; she knew instinctively that her life's hourglass had run out of sand. Glancing at the bodies scattered on the ground, she also knew that nobody would be coming to save her.

The teenager leveled her gaze at Tara. "How could you? We love you."

The response was a dismissive shrug. "That's not enough."

Refusing to falter or shed another tear, Dawn continued to lock Tara's cold eyes with her own, but the witch met the look easily and displayed not even the tiniest drop of remorse. With a forceful jerk of her hand, a sickeningly loud crack filled the room and Dawn's head slumped to her chest, spinal cord snapped by forbidden magick.

Tara stared at the limp form for a moment and then, with a careless wave, released her hold. She watched with disinterest as the lifeless teenager tumbled to the floor, coming to rest next to Buffy in a wilted heap.

With desperate eyes glued to the events being played out within the mirror, tears streamed unnoticed down Willow's cheeks as she faced her most horrific innermost fears portrayed in stark, vivid, living color. "It's not real," she assured herself in a quivering, high-pitched voice, but could find no comfort in the unconvincing statement.

As though she had heard Willow's words, the vision of Tara turned toward the mirror's surface and smiled again. "There you are," she purred with sparkling eyes.

Hips swaying, Tara glided forward and emerged effortlessly from the mirror. Willow stumbled backward, shaking her head in refusal, trying valiantly to deny the image. Madrigan moved to stand next to the dark witch as she paused in her stride, licking her lips as she savored the time it took to survey the redhead from head to toe.

The mage looked to Willow with raised eyebrows. "You don't like?" He appreciatively checked out the woman at his side. "Mm. Just look at her. She's a work of art, my friend."

The object of Madrigan's admiration clearly lapped up the compliment, but he was otherwise inconsequential. The totality of her focus remained on the wide-eyed redhead who was unable to look away from the image that began to saunter confidently toward her.

"All that purity, all that good ... " Madrigan continued, not in the least put out by Tara's inattention, instead cocking his head to one side and indulging in the view. "You never wondered? We've all got our dark sides, right? How much more devastating are they when you never let 'em out to play?" He smirked. "I guess that's a rhetorical question for people like you and me."

Not once did Tara falter along her relentless path. She radiated with assurance, malevolence and above all a sexuality that Willow was powerless to ignore. Nevertheless, she took a further step backward.

"This is ..." The redhead hesitated as she swallowed dryly. "This is sick! I-It's wrong!"

"Oh no," breathed Tara with a toss of her head, causing her black hair to ripple. "This is right."

Desperately, Willow looked to Madrigan for assistance. "Make it stop!"

"Now?" Tara visibly pouted, still slinking forward. "But baby, we haven't even started. Just think ... you and me ... We'd be unstoppable. Nobody could ever hurt us again." She gazed at the other woman from beneath heavy lids. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Willow momentarily closed her eyes against the nightmare image. "Yes! No! Yes, but—" When she opened them again, Tara was still there, though now only arms length away. Making a stand, the redhead refused to back away further, instead facing the figure that crept inexorably nearer.

"Tara. Listen to me," Willow reasoned. "I understand. I know what it's like to have all that power, and ... and I know it feels—"

Brilliant eyes shimmering, Tara beamed. "Wonderful?" she suggested with a delighted laugh. "Oh Willow, I get it now. Being above everything. Untouchable. All those times I came down on you for using magick, trying to stop you from being who you are ... I had it so wrong."

Willow felt the panic begin to rise. "No, you didn't. The power I have, that we have ... I-It's just a- a tool. It's what we do with it that matters, a-and it's not enough to do something just because you can. That's what you tried to teach me."

"That was then," dismissed Tara with a shake of her head and a tiny smile. "I didn't have a clue back then – as usual. Just spouted off what I was told, you know? Mommy said it's bad, so it must be bad. Thinking for myself never really was my strong point."

Willow shook her head vehemently. "That's not—"

"But now?" she interrupted as Willow could only stare mutely like a deer trapped in the headlights. "Oh, now I can see. I feel it, the strength just flowing through me. It's ... it's incredible. I can do anything. I want to." Tara's voice dropped to a secretive, intimate tone reserved for lovers as her eyes seemed to bore straight through to Willow's soul. "And you do too, don't you Will?"

Willow's denial was weak at best. "No."

The tip of Tara's tongue brushed her forefinger and she slowly dragged it across the contours of her parted lips. "I think you do."

"Tara, please ..."

The pair were now only inches apart as Tara leaned toward the redhead, who found herself unable and even unwilling to pull away.

"Shhhh," came the whispered command.

Willow's final effort at rationalization met with little success, although she struggled heroically. "This isn't you. This isn't you," she muttered, as though repeating the denial would somehow make it true.

"This is both of us," Tara responded in a voice loud enough for only Willow to hear. "I'm who you made me."

She reached out and cupped Willow's face with surprising tenderness before allowing her hands to trail lightly down the arms and encircle the redhead's waist. With a fierce tug, she pulled Willow close before stealing her lips in a kiss conveying a passion that was nearly overwhelming. Willow possessed neither the strength nor the will to deny her mounting desire. With a low moan, she surrendered totally to pleasure and, running her fingers through the dark hair which caressed her cheek, returned the urgent kiss with her own unbridled hunger.