𝔟𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔰 (staked) wrote in 6wordstories, |
If she tried very, very hard, Buffy could remember a time when she did know what to believe, a time when right was right and wrong was wrong and the bad guys wore pointy hats, but that was so long ago that it hardly seemed real. A dream, perhaps, imagined by a beautiful, young girl with golden hair and wide green eyes, one that didn't have to force a smile or a laugh, but that wasn't Buffy. Hadn't been for a long time.
No, Buffy had seen too much. Done too much. She looked and felt every single year of her thirty four, and the weight of it all was so demanding and crushing that it was almost palpable and practically visible where it sat atop her shoulders. There was a price to being the oldest slayer to ever live, and the longer she averted death, the more she understood why slayers died young.
It was easier that way.
"Yeah?" she asked, a slender arm resting over her knees, chin positioned in a palm that should have been calloused from nearly two decades of whittling stakes and constant abuse. Instead, they were smooth and pale as if untouched by the countless hardships. "Join the club. I'd tell you that we've got cookies and juice, but those were the first to go."
Her expression was soft, but the stitch of concern between her eyebrows gave her away. "Sit down. You're making me nervous, Angel."