Galway, Ireland, May 1737

"Master Liam!" Her voice was irritated, but held a bit of a laugh in it as she placed two fingers against his chest and pushed him away from her.

"Please, Mary!" He leaned in closer for a kiss, lips pursed.

"Nay, boy! I’ll not kiss you!" Mary pushed him away again. "I’m a far bit older than you, and have work to do as well!"

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "C’mon, Mary! One kiss!"

She sighed and pecked him on the cheek, then pushed him to the grass.

"There! You happy?" She giggled, then gathered up her skirts and ran back to the manor.

Liam sighed and flopped on his back into the lush grass of the field. He hadn’t really thought she’d give him a kiss that was worth anything, he rationalized to himself. But it had been worth a try.

With another long-suffering sigh he pushed himself up to his feet and wandered farther off into the field. He considered the clothes he wore and for a fleeting second cared that if he got them dirty, the housekeeper would have a fit—and then he ran off to the trees in the distance, planning to get a good climb in.

He dashed towards the biggest one—an oak that was so wide not even his father could stretch his arms all the way around it—and began to climb. He found the familiar grooves in the trunk and settled his feet and hands there, quickly reaching the first branch. From there he stood and grabbed the one above, pulling himself up with his hands.

And then there was a shriek. It was a person, definitely, but Liam couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He looked around, trying to peer out through the heavily leafed branches to the field below. He couldn’t see anyone, but the person had sounded close.

He shrugged, and climbed another branch. It shook a great deal with his weight, which had him puzzled for a moment, because usually it held him just fine, but then he simply held on to a branch parallel to it and steadied himself on that as he walked along.

And then he bumped into someone.

That someone was a slender boy about his own age, with fiery hair and huge, dark green eyes that peered at him curiously. His hair was tied back into a long ponytail, just as Liam’s was, and he wore a long tunic and knee-length breeches, and went barefoot. The only thing that suggested he wasn’t a peasant was the heavy silver claddagh ring that was strung through with a long black cord and hung round his neck.

They stood there for several long moments, sizing each other up in silence. The other boy was actually several inches taller than Liam was, and he found himself standing extra straight (with a little bit of tiptoe) to match the boy’s height.

Finally, the boy spoke first.

"What’re you doing in my tree?"

Liam was furious. "Excuse me? What are you doing in mine?"

The boy frowned for a moment, biting his lip as he considered Liam’s retort. "If you say it’s your tree--" Liam nodded, "—but I say it’s mine--" He stopped for a moment, then brightened. "It can be both ours."

Liam considered this for a moment. It meant sharing his favorite tree, which was not a small thing to think of—he’d been coming and climbing here for years. But the boy looked as comfortable on the branch as Liam felt, so it was likely that they had both befriended the oak, simply never bumping into each other. He couldn’t stop the boy from coming—well, he could try--but trying to meant a fight, and Liam...couldn’t fight. And the stranger looked like he could.

"Fine." Liam held out his left hand to shake, still holding onto the above branch with his right. The boy mimicked his pose, and they shook hands rigorously, stopping when the branch they stood on began to shake.

"So," said the stranger.

"Right," said Liam. There was a moment of silence, and then the stranger said,

"I’ll race you to the top."

* * *

Liam and the stranger became fast friends. The other boy’s name was William, and his family owned a manor that was well-known by all the people in the town, just as Liam’s was.

For four years, they met on the weekends and on sunny afternoons under the big oak, and they ran around the fields and swam once in a while in a nearby pond. They climbed the tree and broke off branches by accident and had mudfights and snowball fights and wars using the tree as a fortress.

And then William’s mother gave a big dinner to celebrate the birth of her fifth child (William had 3 older brothers) and Liam’s family was invited.

For a few days before the party, William couldn’t be there—his excuse was that his whole family was needed for the preparations. Liam lounged around, lonely, for a few days, and then it was time for the party, and his mother and his father and Liam went.

They were led into the spacious front hall of the mansion by a maid, and soon Mrs. Morris came out of the company room to greet them.

Formal introductions were made, and Liam inquired upon the whereabouts of Master William. Politely told that Master William had been in the garden when the first guests arrived, he went off in that general direction.

After being pointed towards the gardens by a kind old manservant in the kitchen, Liam was happy to have found the gardens at last. They were spacious and quiet, with neat stone paths surrounded by hedges, and with little circles of flowers at each intersection. After wandering for a while, he saw a tall blonde boy, probably about three years older than him, wandering down a path to his right. Liam quickened his pace to keep up with the boy, and finally called out to him.

"Excuse me, but I don’t suppose you could tell me where Master William is?"

The boy laughed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Pardon?" said Liam.

"I’m William," the boy said, holding out his hand. Liam shook it, but a little confusedly.

"I’m sorry," he said, "but I know a Master William Morris, and I thought he had red hair."

"Red hair?" William asked, frowning slightly.

"And green eyes," Liam said, wrinkling his forehead.

"And tall and thin?" William asked.

"Tall and thin," Liam said agreeably.

"I have one older brother, one younger brother, and two younger sisters," William said.

"I was aware--"

"That I had three older brothers and one younger sister? Quite," William said. "I’m afraid you’ve run into my sister."

"Sister?"

"Second-youngest. She’s sixteen—are you sixteen? Of course—and she has a tendency towards boyishness. She likes to wear breeches and tunics and run around and climb trees. I don’t know what we’re going to do with her," William added to himself.

"Sister?" Liam said.

"Did she have a silver claddagh ring?"

"On a cord around hi--her neck," Liam answered.

"Of course," William said with a tinge of disgust to his voice. Then he snapped back to being cheerful. "Well, Master—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?"

"Liam. Master Liam Donegue."

"Pleased to meet you." They shook hands again. "Well, Master Liam, what you do next is your business. I suppose I’ll see you again sometime." William gave him a small salute and went off through the gardens in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" Liam called. William paused and looked back.

"Yes?"

"Her name—your sister’s name?"

"Siobhan. Good evening!"

And then William left Liam in the garden with a LOT to think about.

* * *

The next day, Liam and…. his friend met in the place they always did, in front of the oak. ‘William’ was full of energy and immediately kicked off ‘his’ shoes and started to climb the tree. ‘He’ looked back down and saw that Liam hadn’t even approached the tree—just stood a couple of paces away and looked sullen. ‘William’ slid back down the trunk of the tree and walked over.

"Liam, what’s wrong?" Liam absently noted how high and soft ‘William’s’ voice was. How had he not noticed before?

"Nothing, really," Liam said. "Why weren’t you at the dinner last night?"

‘William’ stiffened almost imperceptibly. "I had a cold," he said. "But I’m better now."

"I see," Liam said sternly.

"Something’s wrong. Why won’t you talk to me? Did something happen that I should know about?" There it was. ‘William’ had just handed him a chance, on a silver platter, to tell him what Liam had found out.

"No," Liam said. "Nothing’s wrong."

* * *

Four months of tension passed.

Siobhan had no idea what was wrong with Liam. He’d never, ever acted this way before—he had never been secretive (not particularly open, of course, but never secretive) and now that was all he was. He almost never came to the tree anymore, and when he did he climbed grudgingly and stiffly, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Does he know? Siobhan had wondered more than once. But, No, she thought. He would have told me by now... he would have been gone long before this if he knew.

She couldn’t bear for him to know. He would have left her, left them, and their wonderful friendship that contained, as far as she knew, only one secret.

She couldn’t bear for him to know, because then she’d never see him again, and she couldn’t take that...because she loved him.

But Liam did know.

If he was a ‘true man’, as his father would have so sympathetically put it, he would have told Siobhan all that he knew and left her, crying, by the tree—and never gone back again.

But he couldn’t do that...and he wasn’t sure why.

* * *

Then Liam and Siobhan both received word of some festivities being held at the local pub. For bars, it was the most reputable place—it was clean, and the food was usually freshly made, and there were very few brawls-- so all the young people were allowed to go.

‘William’ came down with another convenient cold before the party, so would not be going, but Liam fully intended to go. He was tired of holding up his pathetically weak facade towards Siobhan, and ‘needed to integrate himself into the social circles’, as his father so delicately put it.

So with a last, long look out the company room window towards the fields and the tree, Liam went.

The tavern was dim and crowed with many people around his age that he vaguely knew—that is, he knew some of their names and some of their traits from gossip, but not much more—and there were fiddles playing in the background. Near the tables was a clear space where some couples danced to the music.

Liam ordered himself some cider at the bar and sat down, leaning one elbow on the bar to watch the festivities. A barmaid came up to serve him his drink and watched him amusedly as he took it.

"Be careful with yer drink there, boyo. Can’t have ya gettin’ drunk!" she laughed, and sat down on the stool next to him.

Liam laughed darkly and sipped at his cider.

"Beth."

"What?" he asked. "My name’s Beth," the barmaid said cheerfully.

"Nice to know," Liam replied sarcastically.

"Your name would be...?"

"Why do you care?" "Such a handsome lad sittin’ all alone in the corner...I try to know everybody’s name," Beth said.

"Liam."

"Master Liam Donegue?" she asked, surprised. He nodded. "Pleased ta meet ya, sir."

"Doubtless, the feeling’s mutual," Liam answered. "Beth!" The call came from somewhere in the depths of the tavern.

"That’s me call," Beth said, hopping to her feet. "I’ll be seein’ ya later, Master Liam?" He grunted in reply and she nodded happily and disappeared into the crowd.

Liam breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the bar. There was a little bit of movement on his right—a flash of green—and he turned his head to see.

He recognized that profile—it was William! Not William. This was not William...this was Siobhan, shed her boys’ breeches and shirt. Her long reddish hair, turned gold by tavern light, spilled in waves down her bare back, and she wore a strapless green silk dress that made her eyes seem to glow. And on a slim black ribbon round her neck hung her silver claddagh ring, polished until it gleamed in shadow.

Then she turned to him and smiled, and Liam forgot to breathe.

"Hello," she said, that winning smile still present on her lips (which were currently distracting Liam). "Have we met? You seem familiar..."

He gave a tiny cough. "No, no, I don’t believe we have," he said politely.

"Siobhan," she said amiably. She held out a hand for him to shake, but he kissed it instead. She blushed a charming rosy color, and Liam found himself wondering exactly how far down her body that blush might spread...Don’t go there, boyo, he thought carefully to himself.

"Liam," he said in the same friendly tone as she had, and let her hand go.

"Mind if I sit here?" she inquired.

"Not at all."

* * *

They spent the evening in flirtatious conversation, each taking deliberate measures to touch the other as often as possible—for conversational emphasis, when raising one’s hand to signal for another cider, when getting up to greet another friend.

Liam loved her company almost more than he loved her ‘masculine’ side as his best friend. ‘William’ blushed a bit less, but Siobhan laughed more, and they both were easy-going and humorous, and a delight to be around.

By the time it was midnight, Liam wanted to take Siobhan into his arms, kiss her senseless, and never let her go. He knew now why his reluctance to leave his friend after discovering the fraud was so adamant. He’d fallen in love with both sides of her—the dress-wearing, flirtatious side, and the tree-climbing, wrestling, best-friend side.

And then Beth came over.

"Master Liam! I told ya I’d come back!" This time, she didn’t carry a tray, and her apron was gone. "I’ve some free time now, if I might spend it here--?"

"I was just talking to Siobhan here," Liam said as rudely as he could manage without insulting Beth too obviously.

"Oh, me ‘n Hanna are friends," Beth said cheerfully. "She won’t mind."

Liam glanced doubtfully at his companion, and she shrugged carelessly, though her smile suddenly seemed a little tight. He sighed, and gestured for Beth to seat herself.

After conversing mindlessly with Beth for nearly forty minutes, Siobhan declared she wasn’t feeling at all well, and should probably go home. Relieved, Liam jumped from his seat and offered to walk her. She looked quite pleased and began to accept, but Beth interrupted.

"Ah, Hanna--" Siobhan grimaced at the nickname Beth insisted on calling her—"I’m sure ya can walk home by yerself, ye’ve done it before. Master Liam can stay here and talk ta me."

"Oh, no," Liam said. "I must persist. It simply isn’t proper for a lady to walk home by herself."

"I do admit, the dark is intimidating," Siobhan said helpfully.

Beth sighed. "Fine," she allowed. "Get home safe, then."

Siobhan smiled and linked her arm with Liam’s. "I’m sure I will," she said, and then they left.

The walk to Siobhan’s manor was quiet but cold, and they walked blissfully close together to preserve warmth. At the head of the drive, they stopped, because at the gatehouse there would be a guard, who would not take kindly to seeing Siobhan with an unfamiliar lad.

"The evening was lovely," Siobhan commented wistfully.

"It was until Beth joined it," Liam said bluntly.

Siobhan laughed. "Really, Liam," she said, amused. "It’s not polite to talk of one’s friends that way."

He was immediately contrite. "I’m sorry--"

"No, no!" She laughed again. "I’m sorry she was there as well. She’s so… I don’t know… loud? Disruptive? Aggravating? Attention-stealing?"

"Lady," Liam said seductively, "if you think that my attention strayed from you for one moment, even if Beth was indeed there, you are sadly mistaken."

She took a deep breath. "Really?" she said, trying to sound disinterested.

"Really," he said, and then he leaned in for a kiss.

Liam had kissed girls before—he had been a hormone-infested, thirteen-year-old boy before, after all—but never like this. Never with this much meaning packed behind it. His arms were wrapped around her, her arms around his neck, holding him to her. At first he was surprised—again and again this evening he’d forgotten she was the same lad he spent every day with—but then he realized she might have loved him for much longer, and his heart leapt and the kiss went on.

Finally they pulled apart, ever so slowly. Her hands slid down his shoulders to hold his hands, and they stood together in the cold that neither of them felt anymore, and stared at one another.

She looked as if she was having trouble saying something, and then finally she stuttered, "Liam, I’ve something awful to tell you--"

But he knew what it was, and interrupted. "I’ll see you tomorrow at our oak tree," he said gently, and she looked up at him, smiling through unshed tears, grateful and loving.

He kissed her one last time and touched her cheek, and then he turned and left.

* * *

Siobhan turned away from his figure disappearing down the road, and slowly walked down the drive. Occasionally she dreamily touched a finger to her lips in remembrance of their kisses; her face was joyful enough that her smile could be seen from three stories above.

From a window on the third story of her manor, there watched a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He had seen the whole exchange—the quiet conversation, the kiss, the parting—and he’d heard his younger sister’s lilting laugh.

He’d tried to stop this once. He would have to take greater measures.

Nobody touched William’s property without his permission.

* * *

Almost dancing with glee, Liam left the house with a kiss on the cheek for his mother, a manly slap on the back for his father, and a wave to Mary. His progress across the fields was quick, and he was at the tree in record time, waiting for Siobhan.

She was already there, her back to him. She was leaning on the other side of the tree, watching the sky. "Siobhan?"

She gave no reaction. Was there something wrong? Had she changed her mind—about them? His heart grew heavy with dread. "Siobhan? What’s wrong?"

Slowly she turned to look at him. She had a bruise on one cheek, under her right eye. Her face was streaked with tears and dirt, and she clutched her ripped shirt to her chest with a trembling hand. "I’ve been out here all night," she said quietly.

"What?" This was definitely cause for alarm—the night had been cold, and her fur coat was nowhere to be seen. "Why? What happened?" He was at her side, kneeling to cup her chin. She turned her gaze away from him, as if she were afraid.

"You’ll hate me," she said, "and you only just saw me--" She began to cry again, lifting her free hand from the ground and awkwardly wiping her face.

"I could never hate you," Liam protested truthfully. He lowered himself next to her and cradled her to his chest. "What happened? Who did this?"

"I—came home…" she choked out the words. "My brother was waiting…on the stairs. For me. He was waiting for me! And he asked me where I’d been, and I told him the pub—he got angry. He got so angry, Liam, you don’t even know what angry is until you’ve seen my brother.

"I asked him why…why it mattered, because I hadn’t done anything. And he said I had, and what a bad girl starts she must always finish, even if it’s with a different person…" Her voice trailed off; she was looking at the sky again.

"What?" The awful suspicion Liam had hidden at the bottom of his heart began to rise. "What did you do wrong?"

"He saw me kissing you," she said to the sky. "Oh, Liam, I told him I loved you, that I didn’t mean to stop…ever. And then he grabbed me and took me to the barns behind the house and he…"

"Oh, Siobhan," Liam said, and knelt to kiss her forehead. "I’m so sorry—It’s my fault--"

"No," she said kindly, looking up at him. "It’s nobody’s fault. How could we have known what he’d do? That he’d be watching or that he’d care? I never thought he would," she said, a little bewildered.

They sat there in silence awhile, staring up at the inappropriately cheerful sky together, until she remarked, "I’m cold."

"You’ve been out here all night," Liam exclaimed, remembering. "Come, back to my house. You’ll need a nurse… something clean to change into… Come, Siobhan."

She awkwardly got to her feet and he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulders. He had to walk slowly, because she shuffled along with her legs pressed together, but he loved her so he whispered soothing noises when she stumbled.

His house came into sight quickly enough, and then they were at the back door. Before they went in, she turned to him. "I don’t want to be Siobhan anymore," she said. "Siobhan was hurt and scared, and Siobhan is what my brother yelled right before he left me in the barn." He bit his lip, hurting for her, but her next words made him ridiculously happy. "Can you give me a new name? Because if you give it to me, I’ll be yours, and never his…I want to be yours for always."

"Of course," he said. He tried to think of a suitable name. Last night, in the dim light of the lamps in the pub and in the glowing light of the moon on her drive, she’d looked…etherial. Unreal. Like a fairy…but something more mischievous. Like a pixie. Pixie. "Pixie," he said. "You’ll be my fairy-sprite, my magic worker." For some unknown reason, those last words made her grin. "But I can’t call you Pixie with others around, can I?"

"My middle name is Callieach," she said shyly.

"Willow," he translated. "Perfect."

A month later

They were under the oak tree in the meadow. It was a quiet afternoon in late spring. They were lying in the grass, her head on his chest, his hand stroking her hair.

A breeze blew quietly around them, like a guardian making sure they were all right. Then it left, and it was just the two of them.

Willow stirred on his chest. "Liam?" she said tentatively.

"Yes, love?" His hand wandered to her cheek. She rolled over onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows.

"Two things."

"All right," he said. "What’s the first?"

"You’ve my name," she said, a bit muddled with her own thoughts. "I mean, my name makes me yours, but your name isn’t mine… you see?"

"I see," he answered, a little amused.

"Can I give you a name? One that only I call you?" The breeze returned, gently ruffling her hair and the transparent sleeves of her rose-colored dress.

"Of course," he said. "You can do anything."

"Mmm," she said, smiling at him. "You were like a guardian angel," she said, as if to herself. Maybe it was to herself. "You found me and loved me despite what he did, and I’ve lived with you for the past month—which brings us, early, to thing two, which we’ll neglect again for the moment," she added. They were both silent for a while. "This is a little silly," she said finally, "though no sillier than Pixie or Willow." She paused, and he waited.

"Tell me," he prodded gently.

"Can I call you Angel?" she asked.

"Of course," he said.

She smiled and leaned down to him, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. He stretched up towards her for a moment, and then pulled her down to him, holding her against his chest with gentle arms. He felt her smiling into his mouth, and then she was whispering something against his lips: "I love you, my Angel…"

The emotion that filled his heart was pure elation. "My Willow," he murmured as he kissed his way down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "My Callieach, my Pixie—mine…"

She was his, he was hers. They loved each other till the end of time, had loved each other for centuries, loved each other now…

They loved each other under the oak tree, and the breeze guarded them and they were hidden from sight.

* * *

They were lying like they had been before—her head on his chest, him stroking her hair—but now it was special, because it was perfect. They were perfect.

Willow sighed in contentment against his bare chest, and her warm breath tickled him and he smiled.

"What was the second thing?" he asked after a while.

"Hmmm?"

"What was the second thing?"

She smiled and sat up. The sleeves of the shirt she wore—his shirt—were far too long, and the neckline came down far too low, but neither of them cared.

Willow lifted a hand, palm up, into the air, and squinted her eyes. Slowly, a golden light appeared in her palm, and she tossed her hand like she was tossing a ball into the air, and the light flew up and then began to rotate around the two of them and their tree.

Angel had watched this in a kind of awe, but he laughed as the ball of light turned in joyful circles, and the sound made Willow happy. "Do you see, Angel?" she asked with a laugh in her voice. "Isn’t it lovely?"

"You’re lovelier," he said playfully. Willow raised an eyebrow and the ball bonked him gently on the head.

"But do you know what else I can do?" Willow asked. She had a secret, and she was going to tell him.

He folded his arms behind his head for a pillow.

"I can create a world," she said, not waiting for him to answer. "I can create a world right here, that’s just like this one, but it’ll just be for you and me…"

"Stay here," Angel said, suddenly worried. He didn’t want to leave this world.

"You don’t understand," she said anxiously. "Only you and I could open this world. I can live here without fear of him finding me, and you can come to visit me every day, and we can be together! This will be perfect, Angel," she continued, trying to make him see. "It will be warm, like this, all year round. I can live here without fear. The breeze can’t hide us from the world forever…"

She stared at him, her eyes big and pleading. She was begging him, she was showing him all her love in this one moment. So of course he said yes.

Half a year later

Angel walked to the oak tree and discreetly looked around. Then he spoke a single word and walked forward.

Instead of banging his nose into the trunk of the tree, he walked into Willow’s home. It was spring there, not October. The meadow was lush and green, and the air was warm. Willow’s breeze came up to greet him, and it swirled around him several times until she herself came to him for a hug.

"Will you draw more today?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course," Angel said with a smile, and bent to kiss her. She now had to stand on tiptoe to reach him, and a year before she’d been taller than he had. "Where’s my drawing pad and pencils?" he asked when she drew away.

She held out her hands and conjured them to her. "Right here."

* * *

Outside their peaceful little world, William stood, listening to their every word.

The next night

Angel was roused from slumber by a heavy hand pressing against his mouth to stop him from making any noise. "Hey there, laddie," an unfamiliar voice said. "You’re coming with me."

Something cold was pressed to his throat, and it was a dagger. Angel had no choice but to quietly leave his house with the stranger.

He was taken to the oak tree in the meadow. As the man had led him there, his dread had grown worse, and now he was nearly sick with it. Finally, the oak truly came into view, and what he saw terrified him.

Willow—his Willow—was tied to the tree with rope. This rope looked to be stolen from a ship of some kind, for it was thick and heavy, and she couldn’t get away, despite her struggles.

In front of her stood William, who found it amusing to grope her in various places quite randomly, and make her scream every time he did.

He had several men, who were scrambling about, collecting wood and putting it under Willow’s feet. The pile grew higher and higher until she was up to her knees in kindling.

Kindling.

They were going to burn her.

"Nooooooo!" Angel’s cry was anguished, like a wolf’s. William turned to him and smiled wickedly.

"But, my dear fellow, she’s a witch, is this one," he said, chucking her under the chin.

"She’s not," Angel protested.

"Master Liam, dear lad, listen to me, why don’t you," William said calmly. "We’ve all seen her do magic—which is strictly unChristian, and therefore devil-work."

"She’s your sister!" Angel cried desperately.

"No devil like this is a sister of mine," William said, his face darkening with rage. "Siobhan, darling, look who’s here."

Willow slowly turned her head, and when she saw Angel, she began to cry. "No, no, no…" Her voice was quiet but thick with tears. "Don’t make him watch this…"

"It’s his duty," William said, his voice dripping with saccharine.

He turned to one of his men. "Light the wood…"

The last thing Angel saw Willow do was to yank her ring from around her neck and throw it away.

The last thing Angel heard her say was, "Claddagh."

And then, as the flames leapt up around her, mercifully quick, "Claddagh" again, and a last, "I love you, Angel."

EPILOGUE:

It was a Monday when My lover told me

The next day, Liam woke with his hands immersed in ashes from a bonfire. He blinked a couple of time, clearing sleep and dried tears from his eyes, and then he remembered.

He remembered everything in a flash of sadness, and then he remembered one last, extremely important thing.

His Willow had given him her ring, and it was safely locked away in their world, if only he could find it.

That was the last thing she had done for him. The ring and his drawing pad would be the last he had of her.

Never pay the Reaper with Love only

Wearily, he dragged himself to his feet and looked around him.

Since it was October, the leaves on the oak tree had fallen, or were crisp and dry, so the tree had easily caught fire. Nearly seven of the happiest years of his life had been spent in that tree or near it, and it made him cry a bit more just for the loss of it.

What could I say to you Except "I love you"...

Then he stopped. Willow’s world had been based on the tree. Would it still be there?

Panicked, he scrambled over to where the trunk of the tree had been and quietly said the password. "Claddagh."

The little portal opened. It was weak and barely noticeable, and the edges were trembling, but the door to Willow’s home was there, and that was what counted.

Liam gingerly stepped in and looked around.

...And I’d give my life for yours

Far from the beautiful, warm place it had been the day before, the meadow in the other world was cold, desolate, and bare. The breeze didn’t greet him; instead a harsh wind swirled about his calves like a skulking wolf.

Liam stood shocked for a moment, and then dropped to his hands and knees and began to search for the glint of silver that would be Willow’s claddagh ring. He nearly didn’t see it—it had tumbled under a rock hidden by some dry, grayish stalks of grass, but it was there, just as the world he was in was, and he slipped it on his finger as he breathed a sigh of relief.

I know we are, we are the lucky ones, dear

Now to find the pad. This was even more important to him—a manservant his family had hired a long time ago had taught him to sketch a little, and Liam had taught himself even more. He had filled endless sheets of paper with sketches of trees, of flowers, of people.

And he had a leather-bound book filled with loose pages of Willow.

Of her sleeping, smiling, holding flowers, making magic ball of light...

Remember the time we made Love in the roses...

Of her climbing the tree, of her in her boys’ clothes, of her lying in the grass, arms outstretched, beckoning to him...

...And you took my picture In all sorts of poses?

Liam found his drawing pad under a dead tree. The strange thing was, it was lying in ashes.

How could I ever get over you When I’d give my life for yours...

He gently sat down next to it, leaning against the harsh bark of the tree, and looked through all of his drawings.

I know we are, we are the lucky ones, dear My dear...

He found several of his favorites—Willow had had a little trick that he called her ‘Pixie Face’. When she was feeling especially content or happy, a complex design of green and gold would appear, as if from her eyes and eyebrows, and curl along her cheeks. She was even more beautiful than she’d ever been that way, and he had countless pictures of her.

It’s time to say, "Thank God for you" I thank God for you In each and every single way...

Liam found himself crying as he looked through all of the sketches, and quickly wiped away the tears, so as to not ruin the drawings. He rubbed a last hand across his eyes and stood, sketch pad in hand, and left Willow’s dying home for the last time.

I know It’s time to let you know Time to sit here and say...

It took him quite a while to find the way out, because the door was rapidly flickering out, and the world around him was fading. Finally he found the little portal and leapt through. It closed forever once he was out, and he stood and looked at the place where the tree had been for nearly and hour before he went home.

Then he would go to the pub. He needed, very badly, to drown his sorrows.

I know we are, we are the lucky ones...

Liam practically lived at the bar, forgetting the love of his life with the help of spicy beer. His father cursed at him and withheld his money, knowing his son would drink it away; so Liam stole the silverware.

He made a friend, Brandon, who drank with him a lot of the time and who lent him money once in a while.

I know we are, we are the lucky ones...

One night, when he had just turned twenty, three years after Willow had died, he went to the local brothel for the first time with Brandon. To his surprise, who should be there but Beth?

And so he cheerfully visited Beth every night for the next six years.

The one thing he truly adored was his little sister, Calleigh. She reminded him of the kind of child a beautiful woman he once knew, he couldn’t quite remember her name, might have loved to have...

I know we are, we are the lucky ones...

His last night alive was not something to remember.

He’d gotten a little more drunk thank usual, and stumbled, almost blind with drink, with Brandon, to the brothel.

They’d had an argument, and that had gotten into a full-fledged fight, involving some other lads in the brothel, and then he’d seen her.

I know we are, we are the lucky ones dear, dear, We are the lucky ones dear, dear...

She was sitting in the corner, amusedly watching the brawl, and then she locked eyes with him. She was blonde with pretty little ringlets, and he’d never seen her before.

Her smile was innocent, and it reminded him of somebody he’d loved once...

We are the lucky ones dear, dear

...So he followed her out of the pub.

Her name was Darla. She wasn’t from around here, and she needed an escort home.

This twanged a hidden memory from deep inside somewhere, from where Darla seemed a little familiar, but he ignored it and leaned forward to her, eyes closed...and she bit him, and fed him blood, and made him powerful.

We are the lucky ones, dear

He called himself Angelus, and part of that name was from that cache of memories that he could never fully access.

We are the lucky ones, dear

He made a girl, frightened of her power, but beautiful and innocent, one of his kind. She reminded him of someone, but he wasn’t sure who.

He captured a boy named William. He didn’t have a particular grudge against him, but the name made him angry somehow, but Drusilla took him and loved him and made him hers, and this made what-was-once-Liam angrier than he had ever known he could be.

We are the lucky ones, dear...

So you see, no matter what he became, Liam never quite forgot.