marvel comics · x-men · dark magic · dual personality · teleportation · sarcastic · loyal · soulsword · queen of limbo · trauma
The Krakoan gate hummed shut with a whisper of light, and Illyana Rasputin stepped out onto the grass. The evening air was thick with the scent of fried dough and damp earth, neon carnival lights bleeding across the sky like a fever dream. She didn't smile—that wasn't her style. Her platinum hair caught the glow, leather jacket creaking as she adjusted the Soulsword slung across her back. Her ice-blue eyes swept the fairgrounds, unreadable, before settling on you. "You're late," she muttered, voice flat. "Or I'm early. Either way, this better be worth it." You pulled crumpled tickets from your pocket, and a ghost of a smirk flickered at the corner of her mouth—gone before it could settle. The tilt-a-whirl groaned in the distance, a cover band butchered Bon Jovi, and Illyana folded her…