The needle reached the album's end, sounding a rhythmic, scratching thump.

...kissed a vampire. His slayer kissed a vampire. His slayer kissed...

Oh, God.

How would he explain Buffy, and by extension, himself?

He'd promised an unvarnished truth, yet the entry only documented Darla's demise. The greater story remained elusive, even after several fingers of scotch. How had other watchers filled volumes? How could he be true to his duty, himself, and particularly, Buffy?

Landing on a plan, he took a fresh book, opened it to a clean page, and wrote boldly: The Personal Journal of Rupert Giles.