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[personal profile] nightwindows
So, yeah, here's some Illyria. It's completely un-beta'd, more moments in time (so, drabbley?) than anything else. I know they probably suck, but it's me getting back into writing. DON'T EXPECT MIRACLES. Overall ratings - 13+? Maybe?


Title: Beginnings
Prompt: Table 1, Prompt 1

First there was nothing. And even when there was nothing, she was there. A consciousness, wanting more, urging the world to create itself, to give her a kingdom to rule. There were others, but she was the greatest. And then the world was there, and she was a god. Millions worshiped her, called themselves her disciples, her priests and priestesses. They learned from her. Some grew powerful, so powerful that they were worshiped themselves. She became god to a god, who then became god to his own creation, yet another god. The vermin who scurried along the surface prostrated themselves before her, carried out wars in her name and honor. They fought the young upstarts, they fought the old ones, they butchered each other and dedicated the blood and sacrifice to her visage. There were others, but she was the greatest. And then the world changed. The old ones died. The humans grew strong, and the demons fled. The old ones lay rotting in their graves in the Deeper Well, and she was but a coffin amongst them, and still she was the greatest. She slumbered for aeons, until one day, one spark, one tiny thread of a giant tapestry woven before time itself was pulled, and she returned. And then she knew pain.



Title: Hit
Prompt: Table 1, Prompt 34

"You call that violence?" Illyria stood, encased in her living armor, in the middle of the training room. Her voice was cold, her tone mocking.

Spike lay in the corner, his face covered in blood. He growled at her, then poked at his broken nose gingerly. "I call this TESTING, you bint! The point being, don't break the man with the clipboard!! How many times have I told you not to hit me in the face?"

"Your outrage is beneath me, your tests mock my power. You are ants, attempting to understand a mountain. You cannot begin to grasp the barest wisp of comprehension of my being, and yet you swat at me with your clipboard as though I am a specimen in your lab." She crossed her arms, ice blue eyes glaring at the vampire laying on the floor.

"Why you little-!"

"Illyria." Her name. Once a word of great power, now, in his mouth, rolling off his tongue, it was an admonishment. Only one man could speak to her this way and live. She turned and saw him there, in the doorway. Wesley. "Does hitting Spike amuse you?"

"Nothing amuses me here, though his bones crunch pleasingly beneath my fists."

Spike sputtered in frustration on the floor.

"Ah, yes. But if you break him, he won't be nearly as fun to pummel." His voice was almost condescending, and she hated it. But she could also see the logic in it.

"I stop because it bores me."



Title: Restraint
Prompt: Table 5, Prompt 2

He isn't sure how they got here. He traces the path of his memories, searching for clues, but it seems to make less sense the more he looks at it. He knows better. He's made this mistake before, with another woman. It wasn't love then, either, it was just filling the hole in his heart with someone, anyone. At least at first. What happened later, maybe that was love. But this? This was just wrong.

And yet, as he looked down again at the leather straps encircling her wrists and ankles, tying her spread-eagle over a large white bed, he knew that it wasn't just wrong. It was perfect.

"Wesley." The voice was wrong, too cold and mean. But here shew as, spread before him. The restraints were nothing, it was a mental exercise. She could break the straps, not to mention the bed, and possibly the entire building, at any moment. "What is the purpose of this?"

"You wanted to feel, Illyria. I'm going to help you."

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