His soul has stripped him bare, peeling away the kaleidoscope of personalities that hide the person that once lived inside. Lover, fighter, joker, martyr, dead man, good man, killer, thief; he’s all of these and more.

He’s none of them and less.

The mask has always changed to suit the occasion, but he’s been hiding so long that he can’t remember which of these people is the real him.

So who is he really? William? Spike? Someone new?

Perhaps he’s just a character in his own fantasy; an actor of a thousand faces.

Perhaps he’s an illusion of a man.