Work Text:
Buffy was cleaning the basement when she found it.
From an old suitcase she drew a pink parasol. The central stem was splinted with tape. Glittery fluff hung in strings from the edges.
"What's that?" her nephew Alex asked as he passed, his arms full of boxes.
"A prize, sort of." Buffy smiled. "They gave it to me at Prom. In high school."
"Didn't they have tiaras in those days?"
She shoved his shoulder, gently as always.
"It wasn't the Dark Ages. Well, maybe it was, but-- this was better than a crown."
Alex grinned. "I'll fix it for you."