Not Real

It didn’t matter, not really—after all she wasn’t real. Maybe once she was gone things would go back to how they should be? Tara’s mind might be restored. Buffy could go back to school. And maybe, just maybe her mom wouldn’t be dead anymore.

Then why was she so scared? Why did the thought make a huge lump of fear rise in her throat, the harsh sting of tears prickle behind too hot lids and the icky queasy feeling begin swirling in her belly?

Why did hope bubble in her chest when the leather-clad blonde vampire surged into view?