This is my own brief interpretation of the Crimson Dawn's effects, and probably has little if anything to do with what's really going on. Psylocke and the X-Men are the property of Marvel and are used without their permission.
darkWith a shudder, Psylocke stepped out of the shadow and dropped to her hands and knees, breathing in deep, gasping lungfuls of air. She felt foul, violated, even as she did exhilerated.dark cold
gone absent slick sliding
feel on skin, feel in skin, in heart, in bone
embrace, accept
embrace?
dark cold ever slick sheer blind dark
embrace!
no!
It hadn't been very long that she'd been able to slip from place to place by stepping into shadows, entering one and coming out of another yards and even miles away. Yet it felt a part of her, as much as the red angular tattoo which covered her eye.
So why did the shadow walking make her sick?
Rising shakily, she wiped her mouth and tried to regain her composure. It was so easy, just seperate herself and become one with the darkness. But sometimes, it seemed too easy to let go, too hard to regain herself. Was it her own sense of self preservation that made her jump from the darkness, into this half light?
She looked around. She was in one of the hallways in the X-Men mansion, standing in a weak beam of moonlight that was coming in through a window. It glistened silver on the carpet and on her legs, wrapped in blue ribbon as part of her costume. It almost... hurt to stand in it, but a good hurt, like that of a healing wound. It cleansed her. Yet she wanted the shadow instead, craved it as much as her new emotionless state would allow her.
Cocking her head to one side, she regarded the moonlight, then turned and stepped back into the shadow. Immediately she was blind, instinct only, her body gone as she was one with it, moving through walls that were not there, skirting light like she would a desert when seeking water, walking as a shadow herself.
darkGasping, she tumbled out again, this time in a loft filled with plants. Shaking her head, she looked up at the woman who slept in the room, her skin so deliciously dark, her hair so pale and filled with light from the skylight above.move dark stay still move stay
cold embrace
no!
Why had she come out this time? Why return to the light?
Betsy frowned, considering Storm as she thought, letting her telepathy dance around the edges of the woman's dreams like a ghost. Like the ghost she was becoming.
She didn't want to be here, so she turned again and walked in shadow.
coldShe stood in another room, kneeling before an ancient sword sitting reverently on its stand. The room was filled with elegance and dignity, though the bed was unmade, the window open with clawmarks on the sill. She wasn't the only one out hunting this night.bare
empty
embrace
never!
But what was she hunting for? Psylocke tried to feel some connection for the owner of this room, but it wasn't there. She felt nothing for him. Didn't want to be near him. She wanted to lose herself in the shadows that called for her to join them, sang to her as they carressed her body, darkened her soul.
She went a third time into the shadows, determined to stay in them this time.
embraceShe stumbled out, shivering, holding down her bile. Now she was in a young man's room, listening to his snores from the bed. The newest X-Man. She felt less for him than she had for the owner of the last room.i can't!
Was she looking for a connection, something to keep her out of the shadows? That made no sense. She wanted the shadows, wanted the lack of passion in them.
Lack of passion? She had always been a passionate woman, bred for adrenaline. Geared for war, irregardless of shape or state of mind. Why give that up? Why let the shadows take her?
Why give up the shadows for the light? It owned her, she wanted it to own her.
She moved into the shadows.
coldHer stomach heaved and she was barely able to keep her dinner down. Why fight it? Why resist? She looked at the teddy bear filled room she was in. A child's room, for a woman who hadn't grown emotionally since she was thirteen years old. What kept this woman here? What kept her?sleep
give
surrender
embrace
let me go!!
Bracing herself, she ran into the shadows, intending to take them into her, to become them, to embrace them in their totality and become what they willed of her, as they had called for her to do since they first touched her. There was nothing to hold her here. Nothing to keep her as Psylocke. Nothing to save her from her doom.
coldShe tumbled out and fell to the ground, sobbing. This time she lay in a real patch of sunlight. Her attempt to surrender had taken her longer than she thought and the sun had risen, bringing a real dawn. And with it rationality.yes!
still
yes!
death
yes!
embrace
y-no! no! NOOOO!!!!
She would have lost her soul in those shadows, given her life and her mind to become a shadow herself, an echo of the woman she used to be and a mockery of all she had been meant to become. She hadn't been able to see it in the night, and she knew when the sun went down again she'd fight the same battle with herself, each time tempted, each time resisting, saving her soul with the only weapon she had. The only one that mattered to her with her dulled emotions and fading will.
Picking herself up off the floor, she stripped off her clothes and went wearily to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in next to the blue skinned man who slept there, his wings still half spread over her side of the bed, to protect her while she lay with him.
Sighing, Psylocke embraced him and
went to sleep.
The End
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