five [ voice ✝ location: all over the damn place ]

[herotypical]

When Buffy Summers closes her eyes, she sees dust. Potential dust. Dust that could potentially end up being her little sister. The thing is...she knows she doesn't have to dust the girl. She knows she only has to lock her up. Get her into that tomb. Take care of things. But it doesn't stop the possibility from haunting her mind. And so the Slayer patrols half-choked up. Every muscle and fibre of her being tightened to a heightened level of agony. Agony is the best word she can come up with for this feeling. This tearing, ripping, emptying feeling where she's being asked to find her sister on the field.

Dust and the briefest flash of a delicate skeleton. It puts a shudder in her voice when she finally addresses the city at large. Too many failed patrols have brought her to this act of desperation. She doesn't want help with this, but she needs it.

"...Has anyone seen Dawn Summers? I've been trying to track -- " Buffy cuts off. She doesn't want to share her inner tragedy with anyone else, really. This is the sort of thing to cork and bottle and stew and gather around herself. Protective trauma. "I don't know the city very well yet. I need...I need help."

Her voice finally gains steadiness towards the final word. She continues her patrol -- aching.