iii.
Cecily stood by, anxiously waiting for Storm and the Professor, her fingers pressed against her ears in a futile attempt to silence the relentless whispers. The pressure of the voices was almost unbearable.
"How are you feeling?" Logan's voice cut through the noise, pulling her back to the present.
She turned slightly, offering a small smile. "You’re the one who got thrown into a wall. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?"
Without waiting for a response, Cecily walked over to him, resting her head against his chest for comfort. She leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips, and Logan responded eagerly, but as they kissed, Cecily's senses were overwhelmed by a familiar scent—Jean. The forest-like smell clung to him, and it made her stomach turn. She abruptly pulled away, confusion and hurt flashing in her eyes.
Logan reached out, trying to draw her back, but she resisted. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped back, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Why do you smell like Jean?"
"What?" Logan asked, clearly taken aback.
"You have her... that disgusting forest smell all over you, Why." she accused, her tone sharp and cutting.
Logan stared at Cecily, bewilderment etched across his face. "Cecily, I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, trying to reach for her again, but she stepped back, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Don’t lie to me, Logan," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "I can smell her all over you. What happened while I was gone?"
Logan’s expression softened as he realized the depth of her distress. "Cecily, I swear, nothing happened. Jean... she’s not herself right now. Whatever you’re sensing, it’s not what you think."
But Cecily couldn’t escape the relentless feeling of betrayal gnawing at her. It twisted inside her, fueling the growing storm of doubts and insecurities. The whispers in her mind, once faint, now roared like a tempest, each one a jagged reminder of everything she feared. Desperate to silence them, she dug her fingers into her ears, pressing hard as if she could physically block out the voices that wouldn’t let her find peace.
Cecily paused, her gaze locking onto Logan's, uncertainty giving way to a cold resolve. Without a word, she focused her mind, delving into his thoughts. As the memories unraveled before her, every detail of what had transpired with Jean became painfully clear. Her eyes hardened, the hurt turning into something sharper.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, her voice laced with disbelief and anger. Without waiting for his response, she shoved past him, storming out of the room, her heart pounding with a mixture of betrayal and fury.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The group stepped out of the car, taking in the quiet, well-kept neighborhood. Cecily noted how deceptively peaceful it seemed.
“Wait here for me,” the Professor instructed.
“What?” Logan questioned, his voice laced with concern.
“I need to see Jean alone,” the Professor insisted.
Cecily frowned, her instincts flaring up. “I could give you a hundred reasons why that’s a bad idea,” she countered.
“You were right, Charles. This one is special,” Magneto remarked, his voice smooth and measured.
Cecily glanced around, her eyes narrowing. "Where do you always appear from?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Logan demanded, his tone hard and suspicious.
“The same as the Professor,” Magneto replied calmly, meeting Logan's gaze without flinching. “Visiting an old friend.”
“I don’t want any trouble here,” Charles said, his voice firm but tinged with warning.
“Nor do I, Charles,” Magneto assured him, a small smile playing on his lips. “So, shall we go inside?” he suggested, gesturing toward the house.
Cecily stood outside, the tension gnawing at her as she waited, anxiety coiling tight in her chest. The uncertainty of what was happening inside made her pulse race, and the whispers in her mind grew louder, more insistent, echoing through her thoughts like a storm. She ran her fingers over her face, muttering something incoherent under her breath, trying to drown out the noise.
Logan noticed her distress and gently placed a hand on her arm, a silent offer of comfort. But Cecily quickly shrugged him off, her muttering continuing, too lost in the chaos of her own mind and still to upset to accept his help.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, and the air grew thick with tension as the house began to shake violently. "I’m going in," Logan said, his voice resolute as he took a step forward.
Storm quickly grabbed his arm, her grip firm. "The Professor said he’d handle this," she reminded him, her tone a mixture of caution and concern.
It wasn’t until they heard a loud crash from inside the house that Logan's patience snapped. "That’s it," he growled, his claws unsheathing with a metallic snikt. Without hesitation, he charged toward the house.
Storm quickly followed, lifting herself off the ground with her powers, gliding after him. Cecily rolled her eyes at the commotion but stayed put—until Logan was suddenly hurled through a window, crashing onto the lawn.
Cecily couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. With a sigh, she finally decided it was time to step in.
Cecily walked into the front yard walking over all the broken pieces of fence and glass, her senses on high alert as she navigated through the chaos. The whispers in her mind grew louder, an unsettling cacophony that gnawed at her concentration. She could barely make out coherent thoughts through the din, and the sound seemed to be closing in on her, pressing against her eardrums.
Suddenly, one of Magneto's henchmen, a tall, muscular man with a fierce look in his eyes, charged at her. His power seemed to be kinetic energy manipulation, evident from the way his fists glowed with a dangerous charge. Cecily had no time to waste.
With a swift, fluid motion, she reached for the hidden knives strapped around her body—one at her thigh, another tucked in her boot, and a few concealed under her sleeves. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, retrieving a blade as she dodged a powerful energy blast from her opponent.
The whispers grew deafening, voices in her head screaming warnings and fears that she struggled to ignore. She gritted her teeth, focusing on the man before her. Her movements were sharp and precise, each strike aimed to disarm and incapacitate. She darted to the side, barely avoiding another blast, and hurled a knife with deadly accuracy. It struck the man’s arm, causing him to stagger but not fall.
He roared in anger and pain, his energy blasts becoming more erratic. Cecily used this to her advantage, dodging and weaving through the chaos. She threw another knife, this time aiming for his leg, causing him to falter. As he struggled to regain his footing, Cecily closed the distance between them. The whispers in her mind began to ebb slightly, their volume diminishing as she focused on her opponent.
Her final move was a swift, decisive strike. She disarmed him with a well-placed kick and then used a knife to subdue him, pinning him against the wall. With the immediate threat neutralized, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of voices in her head.
The fight had left her breathless, but she remained vigilant, her eyes scanning for any additional threats. The whispers continued to murmur at the edges of her consciousness, but for now, she had managed to quiet them enough to focus on the next steps.
Cecily cautiously stepped through the broken doorway, her heart racing as she scanned the chaotic scene around her. Uncertain of her exact target, she remained on high alert. Suddenly, the entire house began to tremble, and she felt the unsettling sensation of the structure lifting off the ground.
Before she could react, the force threw her backward, slamming her into the ceiling with a jarring impact. Pain shot through her body, and she let out a pained cry as she tried to steady herself, struggling against the disorienting motion.
After what felt like an eternity, the shaking finally subsided. Cecily, crashed down to the floor with a painful thud. She let out a pained whine but quickly pushed herself up, her body aching, as she rushed to find Logan and Storm.
The three of them sprinted into the room where the Professor and Jean had been, their hearts pounding with dread. But the room was eerily empty—no sign of the Professor, no sign of Jean. All that remained was the Professor’s wheelchair, standing abandoned in the middle of the room.
Tears welled up in Cecily’s eyes as she placed a trembling hand over her mouth, struggling to comprehend what she was seeing. "Oh, God," Logan cried out, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees in despair. Cecily immediately knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate attempt to offer comfort.
Storm joined them, her hand resting on Cecily's shoulder, tears streaming down her own face. Cecily looked up at her, seeing the shared grief in her eyes, and finally allowed herself to let go. She cried—deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to come from the very core of her being—until she had no tears left to shed. The weight of their loss settled over them like a suffocating blanket, and for a moment, all they could do was hold on to each other and grieve.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Cecily stood beside Storm at the Professor's wake, trying to keep her composure as Storm began her speech. “We live in an age of darkness, a world full of fear, hate, and intolerance,” Storm's voice rang out, steady yet laden with emotion. Cecily, however, could barely focus, her fingers picking at the skin around her nails as she fought the urge to break down. She wanted to scream, to cry, to curse the universe for the cruelty it had shown them.
“But in every age, there are those who fight against it. Charles Xavier was born into a world divided,” Storm continued, her words echoing through the silent crowd. “A world he tried to heal—a mission he never saw accomplished.”
As Storm’s voice began to falter, a single tear slid down Cecily’s face. She bit her lip, struggling to maintain a brave facade even as her grief threatened to overwhelm her.
“It seems the destiny of great men to see their goals unfulfilled. Charles was more than a leader, more than a teacher. He was a friend. When we were afraid, he gave us strength. And when we were alone, he gave us a family. He may be gone, but his teachings live on through us, his students.”
Cecily’s resolve was crumbling. It took every ounce of her strength not to break down completely as Storm’s words hung in the air.
“Wherever we may go, we must carry on his vision. And that’s a vision of a world united,” Storm finished, her voice filled with both sorrow and determination.
Cecily clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to hold back the tears. The Professor was gone, and the world felt darker without him.
Cecily watched as everyone else stood in solemn silence, each placing a flower on the Professor's grave before quietly leaving. She waited until the last person had gone, standing alone before his grave with her own flower in hand.
Her heart ached as she finally found the courage to speak. “I—” she began, but her voice broke immediately. She swallowed hard, tears already spilling down her cheeks. “I promise I’ll be better. I’ll learn to control these abilities.”
The weight of her emotions became unbearable, and the tears flowed freely now. “Thank you for finding me that day,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “For saving my life.”
She paused, struggling to hold herself together. “Thank you for giving me a family,” she added softly, her hand shaking as she placed the flower gently on the grave.
“I’ll be better, I promise,” Cecily whispered one last time, her voice barely audible. She lingered for a moment, then turned and walked away, leaving a piece of her heart behind.