When Through The Mist|| Solo
What was a soul, really?Â
Did it even have a physical presence? Or was it really just something non-corporeal, floating around in the ether, ready to be torn or changed or manipulated. Just waiting to be lost, to be released. To be taken away or given to, or stolen or found or lost or won. Was a soul really nothing more than a token? An object without physical presence, yet such spiritual and emotional presence, it could actually change the way a person acted, and functioned? Was it really such an important thing that with a lack of one came a lack of morality? A lack of sanity? A lack of emotion? Â A lack of memory? A lack of self?
And if that was what a soul truly was, what a soul truly controlledâ then was was a self? What was a memory? A thought? A feeling? An emotion? What was anything? Did any of really matter? Without a soul, was someone really just nothing?Â
Willow traced her pencil along the lines of the paper in the notebook. Her face was leaned against her palm, pressing the skin up, causing her to make a bored, scrunchy faced expression. Her eyes werenât actually seeing what was written on the page before herâ she was supposed to be writing a report on the soul gem and how it had worked out with Tara, for future reference. Although there was only one soul gem in existence, so it wasnât like people reading this would find the information useful. It wasnât like they could just go out and purchase their own soul gem and just fix everything. Sheâd found, lately, that a lot of things seemed pointless. Sheâd worked so hard and so long to get that gem for Taraâ watched herself kill her best friend in some alternate realityâ and after? Nothing had truly been fixed. Sure, Tara herself had been fixed, but that was about it. With a soul in tact, she now understood the true meaning and the true consequence of what Willow had done, and Willow had seen it in her eyes, seen it in the way she looked at her afterwards.Â
SHIELD wasnât busy today-- most people were out in the field dealing with the recent explosion on the Slayer Headquarters. People milled about the entrance, heading off to their offices or out to lunch, or out to meet someone. Willow watched all from inside the glass concealed conference room William North had told her to go to to fill out the report. Sheâd been putting it off long enough, today had seemed like a good day as any to come and do it. She was tired of picking up pieces of rubble, and most of the time, people looked at her like she was about to explode, anyway. She wasn't welcome there. As her face wrinkled into a sniffle, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The weariness of staring at a piece of paper was finally getting to her, and she decided she deserved a little break. Well, maybe not deserved as much as wanted, but anything to get herself out of that stuffy room was a good enough excuse. She yawned and stretched, pushing away from the table and dropping the pencil onto the pad, shutting it just in case someone curious decided to wander in and read what sheâd written.Â
As she flitted through the small crowds of SHIELD agents and towards the break hall and henceforth vending machines, she couldnât help but let her mind wander back to what sheâd been writing. But she didnât want to think about it right nowâ or at all, really. But she had to write this stupid report. Couldnât she just put like âWorked like a charm! Souls are cool!â and call it good? She was pretty sure if she did that William would have her neck. Pressing her palms into her eyes, Willow headed around the corner towards the back of the room, side-stepping a crowd of agents as they filtered by, murmuring about the explosion. There had been too many casualties to count-- they were still recovering bodies. Too many injuries. Willow half wished she'd been there for it. Maybe she could have done something, helped some way. But instead she'd been stuck in an office, watching a video recording of five people getting too close to power and vanishing back in time.Â
She made it to the vending machines and pulled out her wallet, retrieving a few dollars before putting it back in her pocket. She stared into the glass, both trying to decide what to get and phasing out ever so slightly. What was a soul? Were they important? Did they really change a person? Did Willow have a soul? She supposed hers was probably tainted. Like if you put ink into water and watched the black liquid swirl within the clear liquid. Mixing and mingling before finally fading into it and becoming an absolute part of it. Her soul was stained.Â
The people around her must have felt it, too. Because one by one, they all marched out of her life. Buffy, Tara, Gwen, Xander...even Dawn had been pulling away recently. She had little to no one left for her here. But the pain she still felt was so powerful. How could people she barely talked to, barely saw, have such a hold over her? Over her soul?Â
Reaching up and punching in the number of her snack of choice, Willow made a decision. The final decision.
She didn't need them anymore. She was better off alone. She didn't need anyone.Â
