Illyria, so fearless in her god-king days. So powerful. Yet, she cries in the privacy of her own home. She stares at the surroundings around her. Wesley sees sadness in her eyes like there is a void in her heart for a lost of a love one. He pulls his chair along side of the bed and watches this beautiful creature. Her eyelids grows heavy, until she can no longer keep them open. Asleep, so peaceful, so helpless. He bows his head, hands folded.
She had taken up residency in what used to be Wesley's room. Everything was untouched as he had left it on the day of that final battle. Nothing was ever moved, no one dared to touch his belongings. She would not allow it. Things were in perfect order, his order, exactly as he had left it on that unfateful last day of his life.
Illyria lies on his bed each night which she claimed as her possession. The many items on his desk is a reminder to her that this mortal being was once among the living. His book is opened to a page which he had just begun to read. His extra pair of glasses lay atop the many research books of his, a pen still lay on the side. Illyria keeps his lamp lit, as if for him to return anytime soon, to sit and continue where he had left off. His empty bottle of whiskey sits on the upper right hand corner of his desk. A half eaten candy bar sits on top of its wrapper. His shirt hangs on the door hook, a pair of pants thrown over his chair.
Illyria sees him at his desk, reading, studying and researching. He keeps a watchful eye on his charge. So many things to teach her, in so little time. To be human in every way. To tame this creature of another world. Her forehead crinkled. Pulling the bedcovers on her, she stirs a bit as he lightly smoothes out the wrinkles of the blanket. He sees a single tear slowly run down her cheeks and kisses it away.
She tosses and turns. "Wesley?" Illyria calls out. "Shh, my love, sleep tight." She feels a soft pitter patter in her heart, the feeling whenever he was around, the feeling she never knew existed in her.
She feels lifeless inside. Every morning as she awakens, Illyria is confused of the thoughts, emotions and images that occurs when she is asleep.
"Ah, dreams," she hears him say, "is a visionary creation of one's imaginary mind."
"See you in my dreams," she replied softly.