Yesterday, upon the stair
Disclaimer: I own neither BtVS (Whedon does) nor Batman (DC does... I think?), as for the poem "Antigonish" it belongs to a brilliant fellow named Hughes Mearns. Creepy, innit?
A/N: Yes, this is a sequel. Because "Marotte" felt done. It WAS done. It ended with the end of the first movie, and trying to continue it would have felt wrong. BUT, this picks up in the same manner just about where we left off (but not 'when').
She was at the bus stop, bundled into one of her oldest sweatshirts, with a half-filled backpack on her back. She wondered vaguely what they
would do when they went back to the house and found her things there, mixed in with her sister's. Would they begin to remember? Would they start to regret?
Thoughts like that didn't help. After all, she didn't matter. She hoped – wistfully, sadly – that they would just ignore those things which they could not explain. She wanted them to get on with mourning, really. They shouldn't mourn her
, or worry over her, she didn't matter. She didn't really exist. Without her sister to anchor her to this world, she was just another bit of leftover magic… like the ashes after a sacrificial fire.
Dawn looked down at her forearm, where the cut she had made just a week ago had already begun to heal. She'd taken the time to bandage herself back at the house, but the cuts on her stomach were still sore. She looked at the scab on her arm again, shouldn't it be green? Shouldn't it look different
somehow? Looks could be deceiving, she remembered the creepy virgin-eating bug lady after all (except she didn't remember that, or anything else from before three months ago – she didn't remember because she wasn't there) but still, shouldn't there be some sort of sign?
She felt that urge again, the urge to cut herself and look at the blood Summer's blood
but she couldn't do it, she couldn't throw herself away after what Bu – her sister had done live, Dawnie, live for me?
and so now she was stuck here in limbo.
Could she die? How well was the monk's spell crafted? It had already been cracked a bit. Would a day come when she just dissipated, like fog in the morning light? 'Dawn' was her name, but how many would she see before the spell shattered completely? Where would her Keyness go, then? Would the world end if it wasn't contained?
She didn't know, and she didn't really care. Not right now, anyways.
Dawn got on the bus, wincing when a scab caught on the rough lining of her shirt. She watched it pull to one side and blood pooling in the crack between skin and something that wasn't supposed to see the light and in that pool she saw…She saw...
She saw a spark of green light.