She had been a normal girl once. It was hard
for her to imagine life before her calling,
but it had existed. She was so carefree. It
But Slayer was her only name to go by now,
and her friends were but a distant memory. She
was to stand alone.
Every night she would fight the beasts, the
dead things that plagued her village. Her
parents didn't know she was still alive. But
she didn't think of her parents anymore. She
couldn't see them. Even if she could, they
would only scream, try to kill her, for her
entire nature was different now.
Her calling had transformed her into nothing
more than an animal, a predator. She no longer
stood upright, and her clothing was nothing
more than rags - she still wore the same thing
she had been draped in at her calling, mud
caked her face, her hair, for Slayer had no
use for cleansing.
Her calling had been a knowing, a knowing of
what she had to do. There was no ritual, just
a peace settling over her. A knowing.
The day she had been called had been like any
other day. She sat by the pond after picking
berries for her mother. It was a hot day, and
she wouldn't have gotten undressed if it
wasn't for the sweltering sun beating down on
her shoulders. Her brother always teased her,
said she should be used to the heat by now.
She knew it wasn't proper to get undressed
outside of one's bedroom, but she reasoned that
nobody knew where this pond was, so there was
a very small chance of someone coming by and
catching a glimpse of her nakedness.
She let the cool water wash over her, felt it
wash the sweat from her skin. She climbed out,
now savoring the feel of the sun as it dried
her off. The steam rolled off her shoulder,
and she sighed contentedly. She began to gather
her clothing off of the rock she had set it
on, and heard rustling in the bushes.
She looked around, straining to hear if it was
a person or just a random creature.
It turned out to be the latter. The creature -
the thing - dripped slime and oozed death. She
knew she should run, but something told her to
fight. So she did, and quickly brought it
down. It was then that she knew. And all
without her clothes. So she was doomed to wear
her undergarments until death. Not that she
thought about that.
She had been fourteen then. Now she didn't
know her age, didn't even think about it. Even
though it hadn't been that long since she had
She didn't think about anything. Nothing but
the hunt, the kill, that was all that
mattered. She lived in shadows, ate when she
could, avoided people, for she knew this was
something she had to do alone, otherwise - there
was no otherwise. Something told her that she
had to stand alone. Now she realized that the
current Slayer, this Buffy, had the right idea.
Maybe she wouldn't have been killed so soon
if she had friends . . .
She was the eternal Slayer, the First, and she
was the source of power for all the Slayers
that would follow. But strangely enough, or
maybe not so much, she had lived as Slayer
for only a few months. To her it was a
lifetime, but it was only a few months.
Her death had been quick, painless, not through
a monumental battle, but while she slept. She
hadn't meant to sleep that far into the night,
but yet she did. And she should have heard
it coming, sensed it's presence, but yet she
didn't. Maybe it had been her time to go.
It didn't matter. She was still bitter.
That's why she had attacked the current
Slayer's friends in their dreams, when they
slept. It was the only time people like them
were truly vulnerable.
She hated the current Slayer, and also envied
her. Why hadn't she had the guidance of a
Watcher? Why didn't she deserve friends? Why
didn't she deserve a boyfriend? Or a
girlfriend? It didn't matter to her which.
She just wanted to be loved. She wished she
had had a chance to be loved. She wanted to
know why she hadn't. But the Powers wouldn't
answer her question, as they always avoid
She hated how they wouldn't answer her
question. It was really a simple one. Why
hadn't she been allowed to love? Why was she
reduced to an animalistic predator? Living only
The other Slayer, this Faith, as she liked to
be called, she identified with her.
She too had lost her chance to love, and she
too was nothing more than a predator.