She saw things backwards and forwards these days. She tried to look straight, but her eyes were always skimming, resting on the before and after, things only she could see. She was going slowly but surely mad. There was no voice to pull her from the brink today. All she could hear was echoes of a voice that had been there long ago.
It hurt. It hurt so BADLY. But there was nothing to be said, there was even less that could be done. Slowly, whatever sanity she had once had slipped through the back of her head. How was she supposed to exist anyway? She was a created human, energy poured into a human frame, gifted with memories and morals and family. No human frame was meant to hold the intricacies of an entire universe, of all the universes-connected as they were in the nets and spheres and polka dots that danced aound her.
Spike was wrong, Dawn thought idly. It’s not about the blood, it’s about the soul. Soul that was contained in every breath and touch, hope and anger. She could not see her own. Perhaps she didn’t have one.
She closed her eyes. It was a very long time before she woke up.