Notes: I'm feeling rather depressed at the moment and so this came about as a result. Dark themes are mentioned and I consider the whole ordeal a bit of a mental mind-trip. I only hope I have Fred reasonably in character and that you enjoy this.

Disclaimer: Angel: The Series is property of Joss Whedon and the WB. No copyright infringement is intended.

Dichotomy

By Frozen Phoenix

Illyria feels a discomfort that has become almost usual over the last few days. She had never truly counted the passing of time, as a God all things had seemed limitless. Her lengthy interment and recent resurrection in the body of a human woman had proved things to be quite otherwise.

Her army, her worshippers had faded into oblivion, as with the inevitable passing of this time. With no rousing purpose, no source of being or destiny, Illyria had turned to the singular person who held any interest in her existence.

Illyria can picture Wesley easily, can almost feel the warmth of his breath against her. The rare times he tolerated her in so close a proximity to him had been branded in her endless memory.

But after such occasions usually came the thing called sleep and its counterpart, dream. Along with the more ritual parts of daily life, Wesley has been teaching her to name all things. Illyria is beginning to understand how names bring forth meaning.

The dreams have become a part of Illyria's new life and are things she is having slight trouble getting used to. The lack of control, the conflict between reality, fantasy and memory…it is disconcerting.

It is however, natural. As normal as the stolen body she has claimed as her own. Yet this dream bemuses her especially.

She stands almost alone in a shadowy emptiness. A singular light flickers above her head and with each flash, reveals a visage not to different from her own, but lacking the brilliant cobalt that streaks her hair and shines from her eyes.

You're wearing my face. Her doppelganger states, her tone accusatory.

Illyria tilts her head and responds emotionlessly. "It pleases me no more than it does you"

The other steps forward, her face twisted into a scowl that seems unfitting.

You had no right to take it.

Once again, Illyria is unaffected by the aggression.

"I was given no choice in the matter."

The other-the shell-Winifred Burkle's tone becomes tinged with a type of desperation.

You could have stayed in the sarcophagus. You could have continued to sleep!

Illyria frowns. Argument always been pointless, yet this dream visage seems intent upon it.

"My rising was preordained." She replies. "Nothing could have prevented it."

Noticing the shell seems ready to counter her, Illyria coolly continues with a change of topic she knows Winifred Burkle would find alarming.

"He binds this form with chains sometimes. Would you have allowed him to do so to you?"

Her ruse is an obvious success. Winifred places her hands over her ears and shakes her head violently.

No, I am not hearing this! Wesley would never do anything so…depraved and-

Perhaps Illyria's lessons in understanding humanity are becoming more effective. Her next statement is meant to inflict pain.

"He also enjoys when I am attired and sound as you did. It makes him…more obedient."

Winifred's response is pained, her disgust and horror apparent in her wavering voice.

Stop it! Stop telling me this! I don't want to know what spell or whatever it is you're using on him!

Illyria's eyes widen. A new emotion, curiosity perhaps, surges within her.

"Why do you believe it is magic? Rather that than the true darkness within him unleashed?"

Because I know Wesley." Winifred says, her voice becoming stronger. He's a kind, loving person and he would never help your or…touch you, especially after what you did to me.

The scene then changes. The area becomes sheathed in total darkness, yet Illyria still can feel Winifred Burkle's presence. Perhaps not without, but within…

"The emotion known as grief seems to affect humans in ways most surprising. The only true reason he agreed to aide me, is due to my resemblance to you. He affirmed the words with his own tongue."

I don't believe you. You think that if you tell me any old thing that I'll just give up and leave. Well, you're wrong! Nothing you say is going to change anything.

"Such sentimentality. Strange. I held no such devotion for those who worshipped me."

Wesley doesn't "worship me." He loves me. There's an incredible difference.

"Is there? Did not the other human love you as well? Why did you not remain in his affections?"

That…was completely different.

"How was it so?"

Charles and I drifted apart. It was terrible, but given the circumstances, things couldn't have been any different.

"Because he ceased his worship of you."

After what happened with Professor Seidel, things just weren't the same anymore. You're all inside my head; I would assume you already knew how things ended up as they did.

"I know only what I have seen. Your devotee took the life of the man who banished you to slavery as an act of "love" and you turned from him."

He lost what was important! I wanted to kill Professor Seidel and didn't want him to be a part of it. He didn't deserve to be involved with murder.

"You didn't wish for him to see you as you were. You tried to hide your imperfections and prevent the loss in his eyes. When he sought to save you from ruin, you resented him for his devotion and shunned him as punishment."

Not at all! I loved Charles and the thought of being the reason he was awash in guilt was eating up at me. I tried months later, to make things the way they had been and…he didn't want them to be.

"Did you? You allowed the human, allowed Wesley to…kiss you. All throughout the time you spent with the other, you were aware of his interest. Did you take enjoyment from making him suffer?"

I didn't…I didn't mean to hurt him. But I was in love with Charles and nothing, well, almost nothing, could have changed that.

"And yet events did. He took another human and even then, imagined you. He once spoke to me of how he would pretend it was you he touched, instead of she."

Why…why would he tell you all of this? For what purpose?

"He wished to cause me pain. To make sure that I know I am a mere replacement of you and nothing more. I have begun to wonder if he is trying to hurt me for making you a shell for my being or seeks to tarnish your memory."

Does he really…do you both…God, the very thought sickens me. How could he? After all he said about loving me?

"He is a deceiver, like the rest of your kind. And it is as I have said. He has worshipped your image and I exist in it. I resurrect it, to serve my purpose and he responds in turn."

And what is your purpose now? To cause misery and suffering? To take the people I love and make them utterly perverted?

"The "people you love" were who brought you and I to such a state. You took interest in my Qua'Ha Xahn, my priest and your Charles provided means for my entombed spirit to reach you."

I don't believe this. Knox was your priest and Charles…why?

"I know not the reason, nor do I care. Wesley delivered vengeance, not justice to them both. Qua'Ha Xahn is dead and the other…still lives for lack of intention. Wesley slew an imitation of his progenitor to protect you; this matter would be of no difference."

It is of a difference. It should be of a difference! People have died…because of me. Nothing is how it's supposed to be.

"Then what reasons more do you have to stay? I no longer have need of you; those who knew of your demise have accepted their loss. You gain nothing by remaining as you are."

The scene shifts once again. Where darkness once existed unfettered, a blinding light shines…

Illyria ponders the sudden change curiously and the fact that Winifred Burkle, all sunshine and sweetness is standing directly in front her with steely determination gleaming in her eyes.

It doesn't matter what horrible things you tell me, I won't leave.

"I do not understand." Illyria says plainly and blinks.

I know that I'll find some way to get out of here, to go back to where I belong. It might take me a little while, but I'm good at being patient. After those five years in Pylea, I had to be.

Illyria tries to comprehend the optimism-filled statement, to little avail.

"You speak of impossibilities."

Oddly enough, Winifred gives a ghost of a smile.

I'm speaking of hope.

The light seems to become blinding, finally forcing Illyria to close her eyes. After a few moments, she opens them and realizes the rays of sunlight had poked through the window's thin blinds. She examines her surroundings, finding the room she had chosen to reside in, as it should be.

Seeing no signs of Wesley or ghost-like remnants of Winifred Burkle, Illyria sighs.

Such…dreams could be the undoing of a mind.

As she listens to the sounds of cheerful birds chirping outside and considers her previous reaction, Illyria wonders if such imaginings carry seeds of truth…

~The End~