A/N: This is a two-part story, one about Illyria, and one about Fred.
Chapter One: The houseplants no longer listen
A/N2: Every time you see words between little star things like this, that is Illyria talking with the little electricity thing when she imitates Fred.
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Illyria POV
The houseplants always listened. They have no hate. They do not talk back, they do not insult me, they do not care for the fact that I have killed, and will kill. They listen. They listen to me, and me only. All the others have no interest in what the plants have to say. But they have plenty to say. They speak of the world, a world we will never know. A world where there is no hate, no fury, and no death. Where humans can live without the worry or fear of things to come. Bad things. Things like me.
I hate the vampire; both of them. I hate the green demon. I hate the lawyer. But most of all, I hate Wesley. He may be my guide in this world, but that doesn't mean I can't hate him. I hate him, and his love for this shell. Winifred. This shell was Wesley's love. I am constantly reminded of her demise by the remorse flowing off of Wesley in waves. It all makes perfect sense. There is a death, and one grieves for this person. So why am I so confused. This does not happen to a demon goddess! I know all! I am omniscient! There was a time when the earth shuttered and bowed at my feet. There was a time when I was a god! I filled this shell, as I was instructed to do to escape my prison. I infected this useless Winifred, and yet I have done something wrong, according to Wesley at least. Please Wes? Why can't I stay? She died, died in Wesley's arms, and I am at fault. Why do I feel sadness for one petty human? I am not to feel anything. I do not work that way. I am, as Wesley once said, oblivious to feelings. Feelings. Apparently, humans feel. They feel sadness, happiness, fear. For me, there was nothing, but not anymore. I wonder, now. I wonder if Winifred feared before she died. Before I killed her. I wonder if Wesley feared for her. For himself. I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared But was she?
I don't feel the same. Is this the adaptation the Spike was talking of? I feel more human. More like this Winifred. I feel the love she felt for Wesley. The love for life. And I think of myself, and I only feel the hate.
The houseplants no longer listen. I can no longer hear the song of green. I only hear the sorrow. It screams at me, day and night. I listen to it, and then I wonder. Am I wanted here?