The Slayer

The vampire exploded into dust and calm settled on the cemetery once again.

Buffy looked at her grass-stained dress in disgust. The worst part of being a Slayer was the damage that was done to her wardrobe. All of the evil creatures trying to kill her came a distant second.

Looking disinterestedly around to make sure some nasty wasn’t sneaking up on her, Buffy felt a strange sensation wash over her. She was immersed in an ocean so cold it scorched the skin from her bones. She was crushed under satin. An image of a leash appeared in her mind, the word Obedience emblazoned on the inside of it in viridian fire. Red mist filled her vision, her nose, her ears. Just as suddenly as it arrived the sensation disappeared.

Buffy shook her head groggily. Giles would want to know about this later.

She tucked the smoothed wooden stake into her waistband and dusted her hands before setting off once more. As she ambled through the grass she felt an irrational surge of anger. She never got a day off! Yesterday she saved two dozen people from being the mindless sexual puppets of some demon bent on world domination - and wasn’t that a nice change, that it wanted to rule the world rather than destroy it? - and tonight she had to spend the whole evening walking around empty graveyards.

It wasn’t fair, damn it! She’d earned a break. That was it!

She was taking the night off.