This was the thing about dying, about being reborn: she always seemed to forget, for those first few minutes after waking, everything that had brought her to this metamorphosis. It had happened the first time, hundreds of years back, when the Master had taken her down and brought her back. Now, it seemed, it had happened the second time.
Disoriented, frightened, Darla lay in the box of earth, open to the night sky, seeing Angel, seeing Dru, panicking, jumping, going to ground.
When she did remember what had led to this new undeath, she tried to forget.