who. faith
what. faith goes out to patrol and runs into wesley.
when. after the dawn/wes thread i presume.
where. the streets
locked to. wesley, willow
status. complete

Blood stained undyed fabrics, eggshell splattered with wine, collecting fragments of coagulated condiments. Fingers were red, scrubbed raw to the bone, almost the perfect correspondent to the splash of cherry cake on her shirt. The mirror in front of her; a documentation of concluded events for a slayer's unworshiped ritual - mocking, menacing, patronizing, but dealt the truth of a womanhood's hardships; strength, confidence, and power all had it's down points. You're no leader. It was easier to criticize herself, then to cope - to accept buffy's disappearance meant signing a declaration of leadership. She couldn't be a leader. It wasn't in her blood. She made too many mistakes to be honor with that title. Sanity was crumbling and vanishing, fading. The hours flew into days, every single minute replaced with an hour; no one told her time would work differently in the depths of Hell. She didn't sign on for this. The abundance of misery was too much to bear. She couldn't hold on much longer without fading, wilting, into nothingness. Her muscles were tense, it hurt to unwind so she remained perfectly still, motionless. But that feeling made her feel useless and that was worse to cope with then pain. So, she wielded three stakes - she was more perfectly prepared these days - and arm herself with the finest artillery to execute a hurd of vampires back to Hades depths. She exchanged her white tank for a black one - suddenly realizing why darks were more appropriate when blood became an issue in the heat of battle.

( doll mouth, doll legs )

Some days were better than others. Hell, some days were even decent. Sometimes Cordelia could go entire minutes without thinking about death, pain, and suffering - all of which surrounded all of them like a dense fog. But some days, rare a far between, were okay. So far, today had been one of those. It must have cooled down some outside, at least for the day, because the thick, sticky heat didn't press down as hard as it usually did. Cordelia could breathe without feeling as if she were inhaling humid air straight from an oven. Surrounding air was still hot, just not as unbearable as before. Maybe the heat wave is finally heading out. There was nothing wrong with being hopeful, right?

( visionary )