Rating: NC-17 overall (This part really only a PG-13)
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original BtVS characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most who post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).
Spoilers: All 3 seasons of BtVS.
Summary: It's the year 2047 and Aishling Rosenberg has recently discovered that her grandmother left behind a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc.
Distribution: You want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living.
Feedback: I constantly crave it. . . feed me, please!
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Archivist's Note: Grandma Willow had carefully attached the following entry to the outside of a very large manila envelope. I'm quite certain I know what the envelope contains, but I have chosen not to include the contents in this archive, at least for the time being. Grandma was a dish, I'm just not sure she'd like the entire Watchers' Council feasting upon her! And in so much as the actual opening of the envelope is concerned, I thought I might leave that honor to Angel, just so that I can see his expression when he gazes upon our Willow and sees her once again as he did all those years ago. . . Aishling ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had the most sensual dreams that night. They weren't erotic. I didn't wake feeling as though I wanted or needed sexual release. No, these dreams were just especially pleasing to my senses. They left me feeling alive, feminine and powerful.
In my dreams I was participating in a number of pagan rituals. Yet what were these dreams really? They had been little snippets, just glimpses if you will. But was I looking back at the past or into the future? And was it really me, the Willow I am now, or was it another me? It was a very strange sensation for my body to begin to awaken while my mind still wasn't sure if it belonged back in that particular vessel.
I remember the dreams very clearly, even now. I had been with women I loved. There were thirteen of us, a coven. We observed the old rituals. Some were so ancient that I didn't even know what they represented. Lammas, Samhain, Imbolc, these at least I could name. For some we were alone, but for others, like Beltane, we were surrounded by our families, our lovers, our mates, and our friends.
I thought it was because I was asleep in his old bed, his scent still lingering about, that I felt Angel's presence in some of the dreams. I never saw him, I just knew that he was there. He lurked, even in my dreams.
I suppose the little glimmer of Beltane was the most vivid. I was dancing about the May Pole, a brightly colored ribbon held firmly in my hand, then the ribbon melted away, transmuted actually, into the hand of a woman who could quite easily have been my sister, if I had one. Hand in hand, the two of us danced together until neither of us could dance anymore. Day shifted into night, then we stood, side by side, staring into the fire which burned in the center of the circle.
Angel's presence was strongest in this dream, as though he were an integral part of the Beltane ritual. He was still hidden from my view, yet in this false reality I could actually feel him as he came up from behind and embraced us. But this Angel was not my Angel. This version of the creature I knew was equally as ancient, but he radiated a mystical energy which, even in my dream, made the little hairs on my body stand on end. This man's hand was warm upon my naked flesh as it encircled my waist. His erection was painfully hot and hard, like a branding iron, as it pressed into my buttock when he leaned forward to gaze into the fire with us. And this creature laughed, deep and mellifluous laughter. It was like a velvet touch, a song in my heart. My Angel didn't laugh.
When I did finally wake, I was at first disoriented. I was not really accustomed to waking-up in strange places, let alone in someone else's bed! The room was still dark, the heavy drapes which covered the window were drawn closed. The clock in the other room began to toll the hour once again. Nine bells. At first I groaned, thinking I'd only managed to catch a few hours of sleep. But then I noticed that there was no light, what so ever, peeking out from around the curtains, and I realized that it must be 9pm. I’d slept the entire day away and a good part of the night, too. That made me feel a little bit better.
I stretched, much like a lazy cat, and enjoyed once again the feel of the sheets as they slithered about me. Oh, yes, I could get used to sleeping among silks and satins. Those fabrics have a very fluid feel to them. And I love the way the area which comes in contact with your body becomes warm, but it never overheats you, while the areas that are unoccupied remain so cool that they give you a bit of a chill when you move into them. I imagined that's what Angel's body would feel like. That thought made my nipples tingle and harden; the physical sensations left me flushed.
I liked the burgundy color, too. It was an excellent choice. Very masculine and rich, not overdone, like black. Angel would look good back dropped by such a color. It would add a visual warmth to his pale skin, his hair and eyes would appear to be a darker shade of brown, if you can believe that's even possible. And the dark wine color of the sheets would hide bloodstains well.
Oh, my.
The dreams I'd had earlier may not have been erotic, but my waking thoughts were sure leaning in that direction!
I stretched once more, telling myself I had better get out of Angel's bed before my thoughts had a chance to get me into some real hot spots. Naughty, Willow.
That's when I noticed that the previously unused side of the bed had been slept in.
"You son of a bitch," I hissed as I sat up quickly, clutching the sheets tightly to keep my scantily clad body covered.
I looked wildly about the room and realized that my attempt at modesty was wasted. Sunset had occurred just about an hour ago. Angel was long gone.
But he had been there the night before, hiding from me as I explored his home. He must have been in the cellar. It was the only place I had not dared to enter in the dark of night. And he had slept beside me during the daylight hours. No wonder why I had felt him in my dreams. He had in fact been so close, and yet made invisible by my sleep laden lids.
Well, I decided it was high time to get the hell out of there. I panicked for a moment when I couldn't find my clothes on the floor beside the bed where I'd let them fall the night before. I couldn't suppress a smile when I spotted them, neatly folded and placed on the desk chair. Mr. Meticulous' handiwork, obviously. God, I'm pretty neat by nature, but I'd sure as hell hate to be his roommate! (I am such a liar!) Yet, he hadn't been so anal as to leave me in the dark. The desk lamp was still on, casting a nice soft light through its emerald glass shade.
All my thoughts scattered as I took in the sight of the object Angel had set upon the top of the pile he'd made of my discarded shirt and jeans.
It was a willow switch which had been painstakingly twisted back upon itself forming a delicate little crown. Dozens of small, fresh wildflowers had been gently interwoven with the branch. Not a single one was crushed or wilted. It was beautiful. And it was the exact same crown I'd worn in my dream of Beltane.
I rose from the bed and made my way slowly to the chair and its contents. I took the crown carefully into my hands, examining it in the light and marveling over its construction. Angel must have spent hours making it.
Something else on the chair caught my eye. An edge of paper was just barely visible, peaking out from beneath my clothes. The neat little pile was quickly relegated to the floor as I hurried to uncover the hidden treasure.
And there I stood, May Pole to my back, ribbon in hand. I wore my wildflower crown, and nothing more. Instinctively, my arm came up across my chest to cover a nakedness which didn't really exist outside of the world of dreams and pencils and paper.
Oh, lordy.
I blushed with the knowledge that Angel had not only "seen" me in such a state of undress, but had taken the time put the image on paper. And what an awful lot of time he must have taken. The picture was large, at least 11" by 17", and so detailed. It had been done with colored pencils in an assortment of shades, the likes of which, I had never seen before.
I was not alone. He had drawn the entire coven. Each of us was different, and yet so similar that we seemed to be but a variation on a theme. We had jewel colored eyes, and lustrous hair in the most glorious shades imaginable. Raven hair with lapis lazuli eyes. A platinum blonde with eyes the color of topaz. Amethyst eyes framed by sable. My own eyes had been given an emerald hue and my hair (of which I've always been quite fond) looked as though it had been set ablaze. Then there was the one who looked even more like me than any of the others. Perhaps it was because her hair, although much longer and full of flowing curls, was the same color. Her eyes were green, as well, but they were much lighter. They were peridots and appeared to almost glow in the dark.
Each of us was, of course, nude. I could feel myself flush even deeper as my gaze moved down past the hair and the eyes of each witch, as I began to gaze upon our bodies. The lush curve of a buttocks. The full swell of a breast. Nipples in shades of pink and rose. The soft, supple plains of our bellies. The curls covering our mounds had been so lovingly drawn, you could even discern individual ringlets. Angel was starving for a loving touch, but he was a prisoner of his fear. So he had devoured us with his eyes, and once his appetite had been satiated, he had repaid our kindness as best he could. He'd made love to us with his pencils.
There was no way he could have done the entire drawing during the hours I'd been asleep. But how had he drawn a picture of a dream I'd not had yet? Did we somehow have a shared dream, similar to the ones he and Buffy had experienced in the past? Or had he somehow given me my dream? Even more unsettling was the thought that perhaps this wasn't really a dream at all, but a memory resurfacing. That would mean the Angel and I had somehow been connected in the past. The distant past.
I knew then that I loved him. Despite everything he'd done to me in the past (or perhaps in spite of it), regardless of all the other mixed emotions I felt toward him, something in me loved him. It was a part of me that was buried so deep, I first feared that it loved blindly. But, no, it loved wisely.
I didn't love the man Angel had been. How could I? I didn't know that man.
I certainly didn't love the vampire he had become. I think I've expressed enough of my thoughts on that subject for you to have a pretty good idea of just how much I despise the demon sans his soul.
No, I was falling fast for the creature hell had spit back out upon this earth. Angelus. He was fast becoming the perfect blend of darkness and light and I, with an almost sickening speed, was falling madly and passionately in love with him.
But just the thought alone was ridiculous. Why, a few minutes ago I'd felt no such thing. The only thing that had changed was that I'd looked upon a drawing he had left behind for me. I hadn't felt any love for him as I snooped about his home, making my strange little discoveries, drawing my odd conclusions and coming to suddenly understand things about his nature I'd not grasped before. Then I'd slept in his bed, for God's sake and all that had led to were a few wicked Willow thoughts. I had felt a little lust, but certainly not love. What difference could gazing upon one picture possibly make?
All the difference in the world.
I could see myself through Angelus' eyes. And what I saw was love.
End
Entry Eighteen