Erik entered the study to find the gramophone playing a piano tune he was familiar of. He heard about it a lot back in the camp, about the ‘cursed’ song that caused many people to pursue graceful death than pathetic life.
Pathetic.
Once he thought about ending his own pathetic one. Too many people he treasured wrested away from him, his people, his father, his mother…
He had been striving to get everything in order. To defend his ideals, to create an ideal life for him and for everyone, he might’ve been thinking too hard that he didn’t realize when exactly his hair started graying, his skin started wrinkling; he was not young anymore. At least he was still as stealthy as he used to be, it was harder when he couldn’t feel the comforting presence of the metal around him. He took off his beret and looked around; the room didn’t change from years ago. The chessboard was still lying neatly on the same coffee table, but it was apparent that no one used it. Nothing changed too much; maybe they left this place just the way it was on purpose.
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He could still feel the presence of Charles Xavier in the room, maybe laughing at his choice of clothing or worrying over the fact that he was not wearing his funny helmet. Or maybe it was just what remains in his head, the warmth, the gentleness of him when he tried to pry his thoughts, mending him back together with his gift…