Remembering



“You didn’t even tell me? You didn’t give me the choice?”

“I didn’t see the point. We'd made a decision on that – situation, based on the information we had and –”

“I don’t care! He wanted my help and I would have –”

“There was nothing you could have done. Nothing. And there’s no reason to believe she was any different than the rest of them.”

A room full of ink-soaked walls, three times painted over, a giggle smothered by a hastily raised hand, a mind quick enough to make their conversation a series of unfinished sentences, words flashing and tumbling, overlapping and unsaid, long, soft hair, scented with the same flower scent as -

“She was different, Giles.” Willow slammed down the phone and felt hot tears sting and burn her eyes, remembering. She was the same as me.


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