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On the one hand, Spike wanted to burn it, but he knew no one would understand. On the other, it was a lasting testament to the love they’d shared.

Their affair had been kept secret for obvious reasons. The Slayer would have staked him without a qualm, had she found out. So would any of the others. She had understood the risks, but had loved him anyway.

The witches slept in the bed now. Their bed, his and Joyce. Her scent was barely noticeable anymore. Soon, it would exist only in his memory.

Spike would remember it, remember her, always.