Illyria folded her arms and glared at the one with the studded tongue. “Why would I feel guilt? That would not be logical.” She lowered her eyes. “And yet,” she admitted, “I do.”
The girl nodded her head. “I can relate to that,” she said. “I guess we all can. After Sunnydale… and I still have nightmares about Chloe.”
Illyria ignored the meaningless reference. “It is an emotion foreign to me. I require it to cease.”
“If you feel guilty that you couldn’t save your friends,” the studded one suggested, “you could try saving other people.”
Illyria snorted. “The fleeting lives of the teeming billions who infest this planet like ants are nothing to me,” she said.
“Perhaps not,” Giles put in, “but your, ah, deceased companions felt somewhat differently.”
“You attempt to use my guilt to manipulate me,” Illyria accused.
“To some extent,” Giles admitted, “but I genuinely believe that Kennedy’s suggestion is constructive. Using your power against the forces of Evil may help you, ah, heal.”
“It is true that after Wesley’s death I found solace in violence,” Illyria conceded.
“And I am certain,” Giles went on, “that it is what Angel, and indeed Spike, would have wanted.”
Continued in ‘Dead Men’s Shoes’
