Strange Thoughts
Positioned high on the roof; glaring upon the sun washed rooves of Los Angeles. She stands in silence; studying the minute creatures that pass underfoot. Wolfram and Heart, despised and vile; creatures of muck in her time, they now hold a power over the world that causes her considerable envy.
She, Illyria, lowered to assisting half breeds and humans. In a time when the wolf, ram and heart, controlled and overlooked the demons, supreme like gods. Had she but a fraction of her original power; she would make them regret having forgotten those who came before.
Were it up to her; the world would bathe in a sea of red. The colour of destruction and violence; it pleases her to think about. Humans continued to exist in the world; forever consumed with their fate, never knowing just how close, the dark truly came. Feeble existences, to be part of an age when her majesty was little more, than a memory. Senseless to her; they should burn for their ignorance.
Wesley would not approve of such thoughts; she considers the former watcher's actions. What would he say in response to her ideals of tyranny; surely he would only look; resting exhausted eyes upon her, a gaze mixed of sadness and at the same time relief. Grateful and saddened once more that she is not Fred, having proven by her words; that any resemblances between them fall away into nothing. Speaking her mind was never something to cause a human satisfaction, until now.
She scowls at his arrogance; knowing he secretly relishes in the notion, that she isn't his Fred, though at times when the liquid burns his throat; when he calls her names any other would perish for uttering. She could feel his love for the shell, clouding his mind. The grief seeping from him in waves, twisting into a madness of seeing her form before his eyes, and yet refusing to touch it.
She wonders vaguely if she cares; knowing it is not she, he loves; but neither she that he fears. Unlike those of the past who would kneel and beg forgiveness, Wesley does not fear her. She wants this human to continue conversing with her; to explain his world; so that she might someday overcome her limitations in this form.
Often, when he spoke she found herself listening, even if he was limited to a human perspective and mind, she has the distant recollection of Wesley reading to her before that point in time. No not to her, to Fred. She hates memories of the shell; but she likes the sound of his voice; though strangely, she cannot understand why.
The sky begins to darken, how long she has been standing there is beyond comprehension. Only she knows it is getting dark, the only time she really feels, connected. Where humans don't scald her with their tragedy; consumed by emotions. She feels pity at this, then disgust quickly follows suit.
Why cling to what is gone; what senseless logic makes them reach for the pain? Holding desperately to the past; believing it not lost. Foolish ideals, the world shines in its disregard for human life. It sparkles to her; singing and beautiful to look at, knowing she would crush it if given the chance.
Lately she is unable to determine her reasons for still existing; she is a thing of nowhere, a king weakened significantly; only Wesley's promise of help in exchange for her assistance means something. She considers him studiously, as one regards their teacher; for she needs Wesley and perhaps in turn he needs her.
That is all she knows, yet she wants to understand everything; all she wants, desires to know Wesley can give her; that she will learn and come to understand in time. For she is not, his Fred; she is Illyria and sooner or later he will know her for what she is. Wesley will be drunk by now; she feels a spark flare temporarily; was this concern? Quickly it is replaced by disdain. As this thought crosses her mind; she thinks on him some more, confused by his words; and more so by his actions.
She knows he helps her; simply because he isn't ready for her shell not to be, to exist in the world but not before his own eyes. Given time he may recover, might live without her. But secretly she knows Wesley, he will never abandon her; she can feel it even now; he is tainted by a love of Fred and so he would go on; tortured and longing as he does. The shell is not her; this form is wrong; but it is not entirely unpleasant, to her eyes. And for now, it will do. Caged in a mortal, primal and foreign; she would wait for there are far worse things, she could be; for this shell makes Wesley yearn.
This suits her well; feeling despite her objections, the slightest sense of longing herself; she finds a small interest in exploring it. Remnants of Fred; love for her Wesley. In truth, he was now more her Wesley than ever; and he will be for however long he lives, she hopes to herself that it is for a very long time. Turning to look upon the night; she blinks, stretching her jaws wide; breathing in the sky; the world. Before returning to the belly of Wolfram and Heart once more.
Ok so that's the end; again I just felt like writing for Illyria; she's such fun because there's so much to explain and consider where her character is concerned. And that last bit about stretching her jaws, breathing in; was in reference to her original form trying to breathe but in the form of Fred it is impossible.