Her Mom, her Dad, Sunnydale, Willow, Xander, Giles, Angel, Spike. Darkness…
The foul stench of earth filled her lungs as she took her first unneeded breathe.

She could hear the worms wriggling through the moist dirt, the gnawing of termites on decaying wood, and the re-growth of skin attaching to her bones. Her heart, she could not hear the once comforting sound of its gentle beats.

Panic set in as she recognized her surroundings as a cramped wooden box. She scratched at the rough ceiling, slowly picking up the speed until she was frantic to get out of her tiny prison.

The rotten earth spilled then pored into the coffin as she dug upward into the dirt, searching for air. The earth was now compact against her, compressing her lungs, filling her nose, and stinging her eyes. Oxygen was all she could think about when her survival instincts took over her senses.

Strength was reborn in her arms as she pushed her arms above her as far as they could go, and broke through. Her fingertips maneuvered around the surface to widen the opening enough to push up to her elbows.

Desperately needing to reach the surface, Buffy used her forearms to pull herself out of her now collapsed grave and lay on the cool night grass. Coughing up the mounds of dirt she seemed to have inhaled, Buffy found the strength inside of her to look at her surroundings.

Around her grave were dripping burned out candles, a broken vase, and scraps of burnt paper. Exhaustion finally caught up with her at this point as she felt the world darkening to black.





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