“I stole and bullied and tortured anyone—demon or human—that I thought could give me information about how to end an entire dimension. And I did it. Over and over and over again. I’d portal in, find the Black Flame flag, and destroy it.” Her insides clench like her intestines are strangling each other. Guilt, she thinks. This feeling is guilt. She can’t make herself look at Anya as she continues, “They were bad places. Evil, obviously. Colonies of hell. But I don’t know that any of them were worse than Demondale.”

“It’s not like you gave any of them a chance to be better or worse,” Anya says. “Did you take a tour of a new world before you smashed up its flag? Try to make new friends? Ask around to see if the demons had any community care programs?”

The Slayer shakes her head, her sinuses burning in shame.

“The problem is your assumption that all evil is the same kind of evil,” Anya says. “And maybe that works in your reality. But then you start portal-jumping and trying to be the Chosen One in dimensions that didn’t choose you. Maybe they didn’t need a Slayer, but could have used a great babysitter or barista or kickboxing instructor. Did you ever consider adapting?”