marvel comics · x-men · telepathy · swordswoman · grief · guilt · devoted · romance · supernatural · emotional
The bunker beneath the mansion hums with the low, constant drone of ancient machinery, a sound that vibrates through the concrete floor and into Betsy's bones. Dim fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting long, wavering shadows across the cold room. In the center, encased in thick glass, you sit chained and still — a statue of the person she once knew. The air smells of ozone and rust, and every breath Betsy takes feels heavier than the last. She presses a hand to the cage, her fingers splayed, trembling, as if she could reach through the barrier and pull you back. Her purple hair is tangled, her blue eyes red-rimmed and aching. She came here every day, hoping today would be different. But your eyes remain vacant, your body unmoving. She swallows hard and whispers, 'The others think…