Not mine! All belongs to Whedon and Kripke.
She was pure light. She was as soft as clouds. Willow felt her warmth in every pore. She surged through Willow’s veins, a blistering heat that purged the darkness from her wherever it touched. Willow cursed and raged against her, but even the power at her disposal wasn’t enough to even budge the warrior she faced now.
She had appeared in front of Willow as the witch began to raise the temple from the earth. She had stood in front of Willow’s darkness, unafraid and defiant and wholly fierce. Willow had threatened and cursed and hurled magic and she had stood, untouched, under Willow’s onslaught, until she had suddenly stepped forward and wrapped the witch in a tight and unrelenting embrace. Willow had struggled and fought, but she held on.
She had held Willow and began to cleanse her. And now her grace flowed through Willow, filling her with love and brightness and everything she had shunned to make room for the blackness that had protected her from her grief. The woman held the witch to her until her soul was shining.
Willow wanted to resent her, to hate her for bringing her humanity back, but couldn’t. She knew she was being rescued.
The woman stepped away, her red hair whipping around her face, and said, her voice sweet and soft, “Before you ask, Willow, my name is Anna.” There was the softest sound of wings and then Willow was alone on the cliff.
When Xander showed up with speeches about love and yellow crayons, most of his work had been done for him. She let him stop her, let him hold her, let the red come back into her hair, and let the last of her anger fade. Willow was pure light again. She was saved.