Buffy frowned. Dealt with it? She really only knew one way of dealing with things, and it wasn't like she could kill her death, or her memories of where she'd been after she died. But she had no doubts about her death or her memories of the pure joy of heaven being real either. They were more real than anything here, because unlike anything here, they made sense.
Everything in her life had prepared her for that final choice, the refusal to kill who she loved and the choice to sacrifice herself instead. That was who she was.
Here, nothing connected. Everyone she thought she knew was from a different time, strangers knew everything about her, there were no vampires to kill, just some mysterious demons that she ought to have taken classes about -- but she kept forgetting to sign up. Everything here slipped past her.
"There is no insight," she said instead of answering any of Elena's questions. She'd been dead, and that made her different. It wasn't really this world: Willow seemed to grasp things here quickly enough. Far quicker than Buffy, and Buffy had been here longer. "But I ought to tell them. Not for insight, they could never understand, but... They're my friends."