Notes: I purposely left this story open-ended in order to add to it as the series progressed. And since the latest episode added more dimensions to Wesley and Illyria's "relationship," I adjusted this story to accommodate that. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Angel: The Series is property of Joss Whedon and the WB. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 2: Uncertain
Something within this form is changing. It is an acrid, loathsome reflection and yet try as I may, I cannot repress it.
This form…I no longer consider it merely a shell. It is my vessel, my prison and simply mine. So stifling and fragile, like many of the things within this world. Humans and buildings, both so empty and hollow and serving as nothing more than a waste. Yet I have been reduced to a subject among them.
The vampire struck me. I was a fool to leave my crystals behind, to not assume life still remained within them. Not since my traitorous brethren entombed me, have I ever been overtaken by any foe, even momentarily. No creature in existence was foolish enough to try.
He makes me uncertain. For days Wesley has consumed whiskey, perhaps hoping to end his life in this way. He tried to hurt me with his words, yet I care not for their meaning. His impudence would be considered legendary, much like his sentiment. He dreams of what can never be again.
I could find another. Seek out my miniscule sect of followers and obtain the worship I would verily be granted. Yet the very thought of coercing a human to serve me is disgusting. When my power was in its peak, I ruled through strength. My subjects spoke not my name, as an act of reverence and those who loathed me refused to do so out of fear.
It is Wesley who makes this decaying, rotted excuse for a world more tolerable. By slaying him, I slay my only other link to surviving in this future, as much as I detest admitting such a thing. His hatred of me is a palpable and all the more reason I should strike him down.
Nevertheless, I cannot kill him. Despite his displays of arrogance and utter contempt that stir rage from within me and cause me to bring forth threats. I would not carry out the deeds, however. Something…prevents me.
Where I truly human and foolish enough able to do so, I would feel fear in regard to my predicament. The memories and responses all crowd within my mind and this body and place of habitation confine me. Words that are not mine wish to crawl from within me and afflict me with indecision.
I am questioning my purpose. If not to rule and conquer, what reason does my existence serve? Why was I reborn to a world that has forgotten and continued on without the ones who had shaped it?
My army and Vahla Ha'Nesh are but dust and my name is etched in paper and stone. It is spoken and murmured with reckless insolence and I struggle to remain indifferent. Naming items is a human custom, on to which they cannot help but use. It is truly sickening the carelessness these humans display.
My greatest joy would be to leave to this world and even in that wish, I am denied. Once again this body is the object of my undoing and would make me little more than prey to those who remain that knew of me. It would bring them such pleasure to permanently end the life of a god fallen so low.
When awakened from his stupor, his "dreams," Wesley spoke of nightmares. I do not sleep, nor dream; nonetheless I believe I am trapped within one. So sure was I that I could use Wesley to fulfill my whims, yet I wonder if it is I who has become ensnared in manipulation.
He took actions to…calm me, when my control did slip. He scorned my statement of reeking of humanity, yet seemed to understand my dismay.
"Terrible and beautiful," were the words he did use to describe truths that cannot be faced. Is the truth that I did not hollow out this form completely, but rather merged with it? Because of that error, will this companionship with Wesley lead to some disgusting human affection? These ponderings are the only ones I seek to understand.