The last thing Faith remembered was falling over the edge of a building. The pain of being stabbed the last thing she felt. Being pulled down by darkness, suffering and fear. For her, this was dying and she didn’t fight it.
Faith woke up in a cold sweat. The front of her T-shirt soaked. She sat up in bed, feeling confused about her surroundings. It was difficult to make out things in the dark, and a feeling of unease settled over her. She’d been fighting for her life with Buffy, and now she was in bed?
“What’s wrong?” Buffy sleepily whispered, reaching out for her.
She was startled by the other woman’s appearance. Her first instinct was to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. Faith moved back on the bed, and fell to the hardwood floor with a rather loud thud.
“Faith!” Buffy sounded far more alert. She sat up, and turned on the bedside table lamp. “Are you all right?”
Faith jumped up, looking around the bedroom for a way out. She thought she found it. Going for the door closest to her, and threw it open. Finding a spacious bathroom, but she darted into it. Slamming the door shut, and locked it for good measure. She turned on the light switch, looking for anything that she could use as a weapon.
Buffy climbed out of bed, eyebrows lowering in worry. She moved over to the door, trying to turn the locked knob. “Faith?” She softly stated. “What’s wrong?”
Faith stopped in the middle of the bathroom, staring at the mirrored medicine cabinet. She could break it. Use a shard of glass to fight her way out. She grabbed a neatly hung hand towel from the rack, and wrapped it around her fist. She didn’t know what game Buffy was playing at but she refused to lose this time around. She crossed the room, going over to the mirror, and raised her fist to it but stopped short of hitting it. She stared at her reflection. She was old. Older than she had been.
Buffy knocked at the door, and tried turning the knob again. “Please, open the door.” She gently pleaded, growing increasingly worried about the other woman.
She moved closer to the mirror, unwrapping the towel from her hand and touched her face. “What did you do to me?” She whispered to herself. The simple silver ring on her wedding finger garnered her attention. Another thing to add to this disturbing list. This had to be some sort of vivid dream. She’d either wake up or not wake up at all, but it felt too real to be something in her head.