You know the thing I hated most about life?
It's full of fucking irony.
Take you and me, for instance. I remember you in High School, scurrying from class to class with your head down and your books clutched tight to your chest, hoping no-one would notice you.
So of course, they did. That's irony for ya.
Me, I woulda killed to be noticed. Came pretty close to doing it, too, until your little blonde friend screwed things up.
So there I was. Ms Non-entity, a nothing on the High School scene. Even you and Xander Harris ranked above me, since at least people knew who you were. But then old irony had to come along and poke his finger in. And suddenly not being noticed could work for me.
Do you have any idea of the power I felt? I guess you do, with your hipper-than-thou wicca ways. It's a rush, isn't it? That surge you get when you cast a spell? You like it far more than you let on. Sometimes, it makes you want to hurt someone, just because you can.
None of your friends know that. But I do. We're more alike than you want to admit.
So I find myself invisible because of everyone ignoring me, and suddenly (are you ready for the irony?) people take an interest. You. Cordelia Chase. Buffy Summers. Even the fucking government. I disappear, and suddenly the attention I always wanted is there; in spades.
Are we laughing yet?
All credit to the suits; they treated me right. Good food, a nice room, plenty of useful life skills. I finally found somewhere that I was accepted. Where there were others like me. Others like Kenny.
Have you ever made love blindfolded? Do you know the intensity that comes from using just touch and taste? Every time was like that for us. Exploring. Sharing.
I won't even ask if you know the story of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. Of course you do.
Kenny was my sun.
I cared too much; felt too much; when I was with him. I lost my sense of being alone. I lost the thing that had made me special.
It was a shock, you know, to wake up and see myself for the first time in four years. I guess you think I should have been glad; but I was just scared. More irony for ya; the one thing that made me useful to them was gone.
I ran. I had to. Invisible, I was valuable. Now, I was just a liability.
For three months, I kept moving. Always looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the bullet; or the knife; or the burning pain of poison.
In the end, it was a bright red Toyota.
It came screaming 'round the corner just as I stepped out. The impact flipped me right over the top of the car. Shattered both my legs and my spine instantly. I died from shock and blood-loss while they were still waiting for the paramedics.
At the time; as I died; I remember being glad that they'd finally got me. But it turns out 'they' hadn't. The driver was just some kid on a joyride.
Why'd he clean me up like that? Simple: he didn't notice me.
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