BtVS - Wash Away (1/1) - Anya
Title: Wash Away
Author:
_fullofgrace
Rating: PG (language)
Timeline: season 7; "Selfless"
Word Count: 409
Summary: Anyanka never washed away the blood.
“What, will these hands ne'er be clean?…Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this hand.”
--Lady MacBeth, MacBeth Act 5, Scene 1
She poured more soap into her hands, rubbing them furiously together to the point where they burned. And once they began to burn, she slid them back under the stream of steaming water.
Anyanka never washed away the blood after a successful vengeance. She didn’t care. It came with the job. People who worked the fields came home with soil embedded into the calluses on their hands from a long day in the yard. People who worked the mines came home with their hands covered in grime, their nails black with soot. She came home covered in blood.
The sign of a good day’s work.
The sign of a job well done.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
Anya glanced down at her hands, the water still running pink.
She had done her job, had done what she was made for. The silly girl had made her wish, and she had granted it. It wasn’t her fault that the demon got a little out of hand. It wasn’t her fault that it slaughtered all those frat boys without a second thought. It wasn’t her fault. She was just doing the girl’s bidding. The girl sought vengeance, and it was her job to grant it.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
It wasn’t her fault. It was the way the world worked.
Anya glanced up in the mirror and frowned at her own reflection, even as her hands furiously rubbed against each other.
If only D’Hoffryn could see his Anyanka now. He’d spit on her. Mock her. Mourn the loss of his precious and beautiful Anyanka. The girl who granted vengeance so perfectly. The girl who did it all with a smile on her face and a song on her lips. The girl who loved her job more than life itself.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
She wasn’t that girl anymore-- as much as she wanted to be for her own sanity. She couldn’t stop the guilt that seemed to wash over her after each wish she granted recently, and if there was one feeling that Anya hated more than feeling heart-broken, it was feeling guilty. But it was all she could feel. That joy, that sense of accomplishment that she had cherished centuries before had now been replaced with a feeling of nothing, of darkness. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
Anya washed away the blood until her own hands bled.
Author:
_fullofgraceRating: PG (language)
Timeline: season 7; "Selfless"
Word Count: 409
Summary: Anyanka never washed away the blood.
“What, will these hands ne'er be clean?…Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this hand.”
--Lady MacBeth, MacBeth Act 5, Scene 1
She poured more soap into her hands, rubbing them furiously together to the point where they burned. And once they began to burn, she slid them back under the stream of steaming water.
Anyanka never washed away the blood after a successful vengeance. She didn’t care. It came with the job. People who worked the fields came home with soil embedded into the calluses on their hands from a long day in the yard. People who worked the mines came home with their hands covered in grime, their nails black with soot. She came home covered in blood.
The sign of a good day’s work.
The sign of a job well done.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
Anya glanced down at her hands, the water still running pink.
She had done her job, had done what she was made for. The silly girl had made her wish, and she had granted it. It wasn’t her fault that the demon got a little out of hand. It wasn’t her fault that it slaughtered all those frat boys without a second thought. It wasn’t her fault. She was just doing the girl’s bidding. The girl sought vengeance, and it was her job to grant it.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
It wasn’t her fault. It was the way the world worked.
Anya glanced up in the mirror and frowned at her own reflection, even as her hands furiously rubbed against each other.
If only D’Hoffryn could see his Anyanka now. He’d spit on her. Mock her. Mourn the loss of his precious and beautiful Anyanka. The girl who granted vengeance so perfectly. The girl who did it all with a smile on her face and a song on her lips. The girl who loved her job more than life itself.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
She wasn’t that girl anymore-- as much as she wanted to be for her own sanity. She couldn’t stop the guilt that seemed to wash over her after each wish she granted recently, and if there was one feeling that Anya hated more than feeling heart-broken, it was feeling guilty. But it was all she could feel. That joy, that sense of accomplishment that she had cherished centuries before had now been replaced with a feeling of nothing, of darkness. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Anyanka never washed away the blood.
Anya washed away the blood until her own hands bled.