Buffy fic rec

Whenever Doyle writes... its always magic to me. She's one of the people I admire who can write so little but do so much with the words she has... and she writes Illyria like nobody's business. Set after Not Fade Away, slayer origins and mythology.

Grandmother's House

Excerpt:

You spit blood onto the dirt. Regard it curiously. Wesley told you of Slayers.
Wesley told you about humans and demons and time and seasons and oceans and
dreams, dictated it in a detached, passionless way that you found soothing in
your new world; he told you of yourself. You made the world, so the myth goes,
from the bones of your eldest son, or the flayed skin of your youngest daughter,
or the eyeteeth and hair of your hermaphrodite child which had two bodies, male
and female, joined together at their spines. Wesley read you all the stories he
could find and then he looked at you with a smile you didn't, don't, understand
and said quite a nice piece of propaganda, but I assume you didn't really
make this world?


Guh. Beautiful words.