Author: Regala Electra
Pairings: None (although there are mild allusions to Cordelia/Angel and Cordelia/Connor)
Summary: Transfixed in a dream that is not a dream.
Spoilers: AtS, S5, "You're Welcome" (Set before events in the episode, based on previews for the episode)
Author's Notes: Well, I wanted to write a Cordy centric fic for the new Cordelia fans I've friended on livejournal (waves to them). But I simply could make this expand from ficlet status. So I apologize for that and I hope that shangri__la and cantinera enjoy it, especially, as the plotbunny was thought of in regards to those two lovely gals.
She is not dreaming. If she were dreaming, it would have to be in colors or in black and white, and since she is not, there are no colors. There were never colors. A world, a mind void of color, of shape, of lines.
She is emptied, removed, and gutted, a body that is not.
In the void is not a memory, but a shadow, an echo. A boy. A boy that is not a boy, that was once a baby, and was never quite a man. But the body of this young man who is not yet a man, is remembered and forgotten, faded without color.
Eyes that pierce and eyes that do not and she does not fear these eyes.
There is a shadow that is not a shadow, a man that is not a man, a monster that is a monster. There is a monster here (and there was a monster that was there) and she fears it yet she senses the intangible essence of pain, of despair, of things desired and something that was once brighter, now dimmed to nothing. She is for the moment, not in danger. She is not safe either.
She doesn't remember what hope is or once was, but knows it is of a color and she sees without color.
If she were not empty, perhaps she'd remember her love affair with colors, but it is hazy, things can be hazy without lying in a thick fog of gray, she's learned that much.
She has an immobile body but does not need the body. She is without physicality, without needs. Colors do not come to her now. She is bodiless.
She is consumed by space limitless, by a thousand things that are not things, that are like her, without name or mortal bounds.
Yet there is something else there. She is not dreaming (dreams are of colors, are they not?) because she is devoid of pieces, she is whole, full and without patterns.
There is a boy and a man, a man and a monster. There are sounds, tastes, sensations, feelings - and she is not to remember or know these things.
Eruption, false starts and vibrant - she knows what that means now, truly - bursts and she is in the center, the heart, of the quake.
A thousand moments pass and she hears nothing, but she knows.
Her smile is a thousand colors of light and darkness, it is shades and shapes and lines and things.
Her smile is her life and her dreaming is soon to end.