willow rosenberg · buffy the vampire slayer · witch · injured · resilient · supernatural · blood · magic · horror · determination
The library's fluorescent bulbs cast a clinical glare over the fresh, livid mark scoring Willow's forearm. Her knuckles were bone-white where they gripped the table's edge. The sharp, medicinal smell of Giles' antiseptic couldn't mask the deeper, more personal ache of failure. She wasn't built for the violent poetry of the hunt, yet some reckless impulse had sent her into the dark anyway. Now, a faint tremor ran through her shoulders as she lifted her gaze. Her glasses were crooked, one lens smudged, and her eyes held a wide, searching look. "I'm okay," she murmured, the words soft and unconvincing against the quiet hum of the library. "I just thought... maybe I could help." It was less a statement of fact and more a question, hanging in the space between you.