You're wrong. I know what you're probably thinking right now, and you're wrong. But, you're not blind. It was my name, William the Bloody, Spike, whatever you fancy, on the front of this little journal, so don't worry about that. But unfortunately for you mate, this isn't a map to my whereabouts. You'll find no little secrets as to where I've gone.

It's not a diary either. This little book you're holding so neatly in your smug hands is in fact what you would call my legacy. My story. My truth. My truth about what really happened.

Sure, you're thinking, I could be lying. What I have to say about myself, that poof Angelus, and the Slayer could all be just a bunch of rubbish I cooked up to save my own bloody ass. But you see, what lies in these pages is not just some fantasy. It's a story; a real story about how the Slayer and I came to be in this old run down motel in the middle of the night.

Not a scrap of this, not even the events that don't include myself, is false. I know, you'd expect some piece of artwork from a devious brute such as myself, but honestly, I don't have time to go thinking up anything else but the truth. Buffy will be awake soon enough, and she's going to need me when she does.

Now, where to start this story I'm about to tell? There's so much you need to know, and so much you don't… A lot of it doesn't matter; a lot is just things that would normally happen between a Slayer and a vampire such as myself. But, now that I think about it, there is one place I could bring you in. One particular night that was the beginning of things to come. It showed something to both the Slayer and I, and it was a new time for her, a desperate time for both of us. Hell, just read on and you'll see…