Alyssa walked through the graveyard, looking for vampires. She was the Chosen One of her generation to fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She was the Slayer, and she had been for the past year. She knew her duty, she had been raised to be the Slayer, and she had trained for it all her life. Still, when the time did come, she had felt unprepared, unworthy. Last year, when she became the Slayer, her Watcher had moved them to this place, Sunnydale, California. There was a Hellmouth here. She wondered what had happened to the last Slayer. Apparently, she had lived here, too, but Marcus, Alyssa's Watcher, had never told her how this "Buffy" had died.
As she rounded a corner, she saw a young blonde girl in the cemetary, sitting between two graves. A man stood discreetly nearby. Alyssa heard the girl's voice. "Giles, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to protect you, and all I did was kill you. I hope that wherever you are now, you're happy. You deserve to be." The girl laid a single white rose on the grave she had addressed, and stood up. The man came forward and laid another white rose on the grave beside it, murmuring something Alyssa couldn't hear.
She often saw people mourning at the graves of their loved ones, blaming themselves for their deaths. She turned to go.
"Slayer." The girl's voice stopped her. Alyssa turned back to the two. "Do you love anyone, Slayer?" The girl's eyes were sad. Alyssa could only shake her head.
"If you know I'm the Slayer, you must know that I am unallowed to have emotional bonds."
The blonde girl smiled sorrowfully. "No emotions. Yes, perhaps that's better. No pain." Then her eyes blazed fiercely. "No. Slayer, this is my advice. Live your life. Love, hate, sadness, joy, experience your life, because you never know when it will be over. And always let your loved ones know you love them, ‘cause you never know when you wont ever have the chance again."
And then the two were gone. Alyssa was confused for a moment, but decided to let the strange incident pass, although she would tell Marcus in the morning. She went on along her path.
But as she passed the graves, she glanced at the names, to store them in memory in case Marcus should ask. Jennifer Calendar - no date given, and Rupert Giles, died 1998. In fact, the date on the latter was exactly a year ago today. But the names meant nothing to her. She shrugged and continued on her patrol.
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