Give me a reason to believe that you're gone

Illyria could pull forth the memories of Winifred Burkle, and so that was how she knew that she was in no mere alternate dimension. No, she had traveled on the stars, danced on the wind, sang to the oceans before! She was a God-King, and all of these things and more were within her grasp before her entrapment in the Deeper Well.

Yet now, the only memory she could pull forth from the Shell was that of an ancient myth that Winifred had studied once.

Sisyphus.

A king who had tricked the gods. he had been punished as all mortals should be for their interference. He was tasked with rolling a boulder upwards, only to have it fall down the hill once more, for all of eternity. Illyria thought it quite fitting.

Now, she hated it, for it was her entire existence.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had died within her arms, and although she had avenged him, she had somehow perished in the Great Battle alongside the half-breeds and the lone human. Insulting. And now she was trapped somewhere, while her body changed shapes forever, back and forth, between the blue-tinged one within her armour and the tiny, frail body of Winifred Burkle. Every time Illyria willed herself back, the Shell took over, like the boulder rolling down the hill.

If she were one to weep, she would have right there and then.

There was nothing for her now, not even herself, as she became the living embodiment of Sisyphus...