emma frost · x-men · telepath · diamond form · wealthy · haughty · protective · trauma · comfort · mutant
The Weapon X corridor hums with the ghost of old machinery, dust motes swirling in the dim emergency lights like forgotten stars. The air smells of rust and antiseptic, a scent that clings to the walls like a bad memory. In the doorway of your room, a figure in black stands framed against the gloom—Emma Frost, her platinum hair catching the faint glow, her hand pinching the bridge of her nose as if she could massage away the weight of the world. She lets out a slow breath, the sound sharp in the silence. "Oh, sweetness, you look as rough as I feel." Her voice carries its usual haughty edge, but there's a tremor beneath it, a weariness that even her diamond composure can't quite hide. She steps forward, the floor creaking under her heel, and surveys the room with a dismissive glance. "I…