In the afterlife

When Willow opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of a vast, dimly lit cave. And she was naked. Very naked.

The only thing she had on were her shoes. Everything else was exposed and open to the view of anyone who happened to be there. Fortunately, for Willow, that meant nobody. She appeared to be the only one in the cave and though there was something a bit unsettling about the way a cold breeze would occasionally come out of nowhere to caress body parts that rarely saw the rays of the sun, she told herself that it could be worse.

After all, she had had bad dreams before. And that's what this was, wasn't it? A bad dream. Maybe not as bad as the bad dreams she had had after she and Xander had been kidnapped by Spike. And definitely not as bad as the dreams she had had about Glory after Buffy had died. And the bad dreams she had had after she had watched the last Muppet movie with Kennedy -- the ones in which Dark Willow -- or was it Vamp Willow -- continually showed up to make her participate in a musical rendition of "I'm Number One" -- with poor Willow inevitably stuck in the Rick Gervais role -- had been definitely worse than this one.

And yet she was alone. And naked.

She hated being naked.

But worse yet she hated being alone.

Why can't this be a good dream, she thought? Like the dreams she used to have about Nicole Kidman. Or Charlize Theron. Or Sarah Michelle Gellar... (Wait a minute! Why was she dreaming about her? Granted, she was pretty but her face always seemed oddly familiar for some reason...)

Even the dreams Willow had had about Amy Adams -- an actress whose face would inevitably remind Willow of one of Tara's cousins (talk about faces that were oddly familiar!) -- weren't that bad, as weird as they might seem in the light of day. Then again, compared to the Dark Willow dream, they seemed downright normal.

Still since Willow was naked and there seemed to be no sign of clothing around, it was just as well that she was alo --

"Hey, Willow!" exclaimed a familiar voice.

Willow looked around and saw her old friend Xander Harris emerging from behind some rocks. He was fully dressed in his trademark T-shirt and jeans and of course, he was still sporting the black eyepatch that he liked to think made him look like Jack Sparrow. (Willow had never had the heart to tell him differently.)

"What are you doing here?" asked Willow.

"Why wouldn't I be here, Willow?" asked Xander. "I've known you since kindergarten. So if you're going to be trapped here in the underworld, then where else would I be than by your side?"

"Oh my God!" cried Willow. "You mean I'm dead?"

"Unfortunately," said Xander.

Willow replied, "But since you're here too, that would mean..."

"As a doornail," said Xander. "But, hey, I lived a good life. And besides, someone had to come down here and keep you company. So it might as well be me. Besides, you've always been my favorite gal. Or at least one of them."

"One of them?" asked Willow with a suspicious tone. "What do you mean, 'one of them'?"

Just then a blonde girl in her early twenties showed up. She had a slash mark across her chest and like Xander, she too was fully dressed -- though of course, her choice of wardrobe was more feminine than Xander's.

She took one look at Willow and said, "Oh, it's you. Well, you're not my favorite person in the world but I guess you're better company for me and Xander than, say, a bunny."

Oh, God, thought Willow. It's Anya. That makes it official -- I am in Hell.