The Truth in the Lie
She wanted to lie to him. She had walked into that room, her footsteps accompanied by the sickening sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone, she had felt a rage akin to her old self. Anger mixed with pain; grief, that disgusting human emotion, made itself known to her at least. The strength of the feeling was almost enough to cripple the god-king. She fell to her knees before him, already analyzing the damage. He would die now. She rendered her prognosis analytically to his prone form. Soon he would be nothing more than a shell too. It was time to lie.
She closed her eyes, swallowing herself, giving herself back to the shell. Whispers of love to a dying man, soothing; keening, she sobbed. The words fell from Fred's lips but Illyria was angered to find that they belonged to her conscience. The words themselves were not lies, only the lips from which they fell. Somehow his lie had become her truth. Whispers of love, dying gasps, all fades to black.
Yes, she had wanted to lie to him. In the lie she could tell him. Only then could he know the truth of her, with his last breath.