Epilogue
January 1, 2000
“We’re just pawns, you know,” she said. “Even once we’ve escaped that still comes back to get us. They made us, after all. But there comes a point where you have to refuse to be a pawn any longer.”
Mists curled around the small rowboat, eddying around them. Aside from the other girl’s soft voice, the rippling of the waters was the only sound. Corliss held the oars, moving the craft slowly through the waters. She was dressed in all white in the style of the period into which she had been born, but she looked different than she had in any of the other dreams. She looked older, ageless somehow.
“What is this?” Buffy asked softly.
Corliss laughed lightly. “A dream, silly. What did you think it was?”
Frowning, Buffy replied, “It’s different.”
“Of course it is.”
A pause. “Listen, if you have something to tell me, could you just say it? I’m really tired of cryptic messages.”
Corliss continued to row. “Patience, Slayer. We’re not there yet.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
They continued for a ways in silence, except for the lapping of the water. As she rowed, Corliss began to hum, a soft, lilting tune. Buffy did not recognize it, so she guessed it was something from Corliss’s past, a lullaby or a folk song. She did begin to recognize where they were, though. The mists thinned as they traveled revealing the edges of the lake. On the shore stood the ruins of a castle-like structure. Only the dock right at the edge of the lake stood intact. It did not take much imagination to recognize this as the same lake from the first dream, the manor where Corliss grew up.
The dead Slayer stopped rowing, and the boat drifted for a moment. “Here,” she said.
“Where? What?”
“Here is where the gryphon lies.”
“In death?” Buffy asked.
Corliss shook her head. “In dreams. And maybe, if this place still exists, under this lake in reality. But in death? That’s still up to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
The older girl regarded Buffy seriously. “We’re two of a kind, you know,” she said. “Both the last of our kind, Slayers of different legacies. We both got sick of just being pawns, turned away from the Watchers who made us. Now, we’ve both faced the gryphon...and lost, in a way. But whether you continue on my path is up to you.”
“How’s that?”
Corliss sighed, a touch regretfully. “I hope you make better use of your immortality than I did,” she explained. “I had hundreds of years where my only companions were pain, grief, and loneliness. The gryphon’s legacy made for very sad drinking partners.” She looked seriously at Buffy, her voice intense. “You could finally destroy the gryphon and everything it left behind. Where I had only pain, you could have companionship; where I had grief, there are those who would offer you solace. And as for loneliness – if you want it, if you try – you could have love. But only you can make those choices.”
They said nothing for several long moments. Buffy looked behind them at the dock. A lone figure, obscured by the remaining mists, stood there in silence. “We need to go back,” Buffy said.
“I can go no further with you,” Corliss replied gently, making no move to take the oars. She, too, looked towards the dock, then smiled slightly at Buffy. “He’s waiting for you,” she said.
Another glance to the shore revealed the final parting of the mists, and the figure’s identity was laid bare. “What if I don’t want to see him?” Buffy asked.
Corliss shook her head slightly. “He’ll always be there,” she explained, “for when you’re ready to face him again, and forgive him.”
“Forgive him?”
“For wanting you to live.”
A moment’s thought. “And if I’m ready now?”
The older Slayer smiled. “Take the oars, Buffy. The path is yours.”
And so it was.
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