01 | Holo/Location: The Sanctuary | Shaper of Things
"I wish to do more violence."
Blood. She would drench herself in it. Bathe in it. Wear it like a suit of armor. It would fall from the skies as the rain fell--in torrents.
Wesley was dead. He was just a human, nothing, and yet . . .She felt anger for his death, and his loss was an unfamiliar weight she had no will to bear. Blood was all she thirsted for, and if it would not ease this accursed mortal feeling of despair, then she would pile heads upon heads of these creatures until she could sit upon their mutilated corpses like a king, once again. King.
The half-breeds and the human would die. Only she would live on.
She.
But then the world blinked, and suddenly the air reeked of cold metal and silence. Water dripped from the ends of her hair to the floor, but elsewhere the room was dry. Space was no longer wide but insufferably small, no longer loud with the songs of battle, but utterly without sound. The half-breeds and their human warrior were gone. Illyria was alone.
"What is this magic?"
Her frozen, blue eyes roamed the empty room, taking in its strange accoutrements. Her body remained as it was before the blink--a statue, still and deaf to all who looked upon her. The wolf, The Ram, The Hart. Only they possessed the power to pluck her from time and space. They were fools.
"Treacherous. To think this sorcery will prevent your undoing." Nothing, but silence. Baring her teeth and clenching her jaw, she spoke calmly, lowly, and dangerously. "Speak," she commanded. "And your deaths will be bearable."
Blood. She would drench herself in it. Bathe in it. Wear it like a suit of armor. It would fall from the skies as the rain fell--in torrents.
Wesley was dead. He was just a human, nothing, and yet . . .She felt anger for his death, and his loss was an unfamiliar weight she had no will to bear. Blood was all she thirsted for, and if it would not ease this accursed mortal feeling of despair, then she would pile heads upon heads of these creatures until she could sit upon their mutilated corpses like a king, once again. King.
The half-breeds and the human would die. Only she would live on.
She.
But then the world blinked, and suddenly the air reeked of cold metal and silence. Water dripped from the ends of her hair to the floor, but elsewhere the room was dry. Space was no longer wide but insufferably small, no longer loud with the songs of battle, but utterly without sound. The half-breeds and their human warrior were gone. Illyria was alone.
"What is this magic?"
Her frozen, blue eyes roamed the empty room, taking in its strange accoutrements. Her body remained as it was before the blink--a statue, still and deaf to all who looked upon her. The wolf, The Ram, The Hart. Only they possessed the power to pluck her from time and space. They were fools.
"Treacherous. To think this sorcery will prevent your undoing." Nothing, but silence. Baring her teeth and clenching her jaw, she spoke calmly, lowly, and dangerously. "Speak," she commanded. "And your deaths will be bearable."