Work Text:
Willow is Dead
Willow is dead. Willow is dead. Willow is dead.
Bullets did what even Willow's descent into addiction couldn't do – robbed Tara of her love. So now she's here – Los Angeles – somewhere that isn't Sunnydale – somewhere she's not surrounded by people who take her grief and tell her their own is just the same.
Willow is dead. Willow is dead. Willow is dead.
Her love left a piece of herself behind, though, traces Tara can almost see in the aura of the vampire she saved. It's comforting, that, and she can't help wanting to be near him – every day, all the time – because he's a better memorial than the grave marker the others bullied her into letting them pick out.
Willow is dead. Willow is dead. Willow is dead.
One night she gets drunk and kisses him – kisses Angel. It's the first time she's ever kissed a man. She thought maybe there'd be Willow somewhere in that mouth. There isn't. The next morning, she leaves without saying goodbye.
Willow is dead. Willow is dead. Willow is dead.
The End.