You open the door: a girl stands there and you sense she is a Slayer; so you know that you felt the truth; it's happened, at last, or after too long; but all you can think is, oh, God, no.

Maybe it's enough that they've sent this girl here--they've given you whatever consolation you can find in confirmation--and now she can head home to her own Hellmouth and to whatever death she finds there. A month, a year. She will die easily. You have fought before dying and you have dived into death; you flatlined in the hospital, you lay in your grave; and perhaps that's how you know that this new Chosen One will fall under claws or fangs and she will scream before it's over.

The message of her presence is all she can offer you. You have nothing left to give, or to teach, or to wait for. The fact of her existence is enough and already you can feel yourself ending. Against all odds, you were the one who lived, not once but three times; and you have seen two come after you, Kendra and then Faith. Now, a third.

Whoever you were looking for, or hoping for, or living for--she will not come to you now; that hope is gone. So perhaps you will at last find peace in death. So it goes.

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July 31, 2004