Here’s the next part of my post-NFA Illyria drabble/ficlet series. Someone at ‘Twisting the Hellmouth’ has almost (but not quite) guessed where I'm going with this - but in a private review, so no spoilers for anyone else. Previous parts are HERE. 100 words, PG.
Illyria had been unsure of Buffy. Angel and her Pet had returned from Rome dejected, discarded, cast aside. Yet they had spoken not to Buffy but only to Andrew and his words were unreliable.
Utterly false, it seemed, for Giles quailed as Buffy’s icy voice sounded from the telephone. “I swear to God, Giles, if you tell me it was for my own good I will break your jaw.”
Another voice in the background, almost inaudible, also cold with anger. “Andrew, you little creep…”
Illyria tried to smile. It wouldn’t come. This was triumph and yet she felt no exaltation.
Continued in ‘Hollow Victory’ and ‘I’m A Loser Baby’