AUTHORS NOTES : So its been a while, if anyone still remembers some of the stuff i've written. Forever, indeed. Hope you all like it, its a little broody, but not like over-angst... But this is really pointless, I just wanted to say hi from months of consistant lurking!
SUMMARY : After 1000 years, a Slayer remembers a time long ago...
RATING : G, its harmless
FEEDBACK : to Its been months since ive written ANYTHING. Feedback would be appreciated beyond words. I might get emotional, start ranting :) (in a good way)

One hour until dawn. The flowing of the aquamarine waves crashed onto the rocky shore, illuminated by the stars of the ghostly night. Colliding with the shore, the whispering waves rose up into the sky with a splash, never submitting to the will of the land. It found its way into the tiniest crevices, fluid, like a painters brush, only to recede back to the cold, endless sea.

Black chiffon clung to her body in the wind, as Lilandra lost herself in the crisp night air. She enjoyed the chill of those late California nights, where seclusion and nothingness could wrap around her undisturbed. It was her refuge, what kept her sane, the reminder of what she fought for wrapped neatly in soft powdered sand.

As the decades went by, she found herself yearning for such solitude each and ever day. Her time was endless, as was her many obligations... So seldom did she stop and take time as an obligation to herself, always the warrior, her duty bound her wrists like rough manacles. It was an anchor in the ocean, tied to her feet, suffocating her in inescapable water. Filling her lungs, more and more, inch by inch, until she passed out. Dead, finally, and forgotten with the morning sun.

That is, if she needed to breathe.

Her chains, her anchor... It was neither, it was both, how could you define a duty that walked with you every day for 1000 years? Over the years, the 'normal life' that she ever so craved, the abandonment of her calling had been forgotten... Or so she thought.

Oh, a normal life was far from her list of wants, it had no place in her heart. Not anymore. Now, she craved the finality of death... So many years the wandering warrior. 'We need you in Italy, Brazil, China, Spain... A outbreak here, a Hellmouth there...' No more voices, no more cries...

She had no family, and had since buried too many friends. Death was simplistic, pure, perfection. The end of a worn cycle...

Yes, she craved death, but even more than that...

Laying in seclusion, the sand her bed, the waves her song as the stars hung low on a distant horizon... Lost in a moment, never to return.

She lay there now, staring at the night sky, wondering aimlessly about times past. Lives lost, and lives lived... Buffy, Andreia, Hope... And now Lilandra. The Immortal Slayer's many names, many existences. What did it matter? It wasn't as if anyone stayed alive long enough to remember which was which. An day was a second, a year a minute, a decade a day. It was all the same...

But she would always remember the first.

Buffy Summers, she breathed, a faint smile falling upon her lips. Detentions, dates, classes, college parties... Buffy had 'The Scooby Gang' the Watcher, the mother... The normal life. Midnight make out sessions at the cemetery... Was she ever that young? So full of life, energy, hopes and dreams. All that was a distant memory, one which looked back on with an fond melancholy.

After all, Buffy had the love of her life, the soulmate, the beloved... The vampire knew and didn't know her all at the same time, who was her everything. Andreia, Hope.... And Lilandra now, the three couldn't hope to possess the love of the first. The first love, complicated yet simple in so many ways. It was the love that was everything when she had nothing, the light in the darkness, the warm shelter in a raging storm...

Angel. She wondered passively if he still lived, still walked the earth that she walked. It was a pleasant thought, one that warmed her heart and mind ever so slightly... But a fleeting thought that was lost with the waft of the Santa Ana's winds...

Buffy's life. There was only Lilandra now. Not anyone's daughter, no ones Slayer, no hopes to her name. No one's lover. The Wandering Warrior, like the liquid waves the crashed into the sky. Her home was the battlefield, and was bound by no land, not even her heart, but only by duty.

Lilandra sniffed the cool air, relishing the feel of the wave's cool breeze on her ageless face one last time. The dawn was only minutes away, in moments the sand as white as snow would reflect the sun's warm rays. She rose from where she lay, as the grains of sand were swept away into the horizon.

Lilandra retreated back into her shelter of brick and glass, abandoning the moment she would never fully grasp. The Wandering Warrior, and the battle drummed on. The Good Fight, even if it would never be won. A duty that called to her, like manacles, like an anchor...

And in the distance, the crashing aquamarine waves collided into the rocks and rose up into the sky, only to fall back into the cold endless sea...

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