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[ID: 3 Spotify playlist titles across 2 images. #1 says "Cannibalism as a metaphor for love." #2 says "Cannibalism is NOT a metaphor for love." #3 says "Songs actually about cannibalism you idiots." End ID]

Screaming…

How many times will the world force Emma Frost to watch her students die?

The White Queen staggers out from the rubble, heaving for breath that won’t come. Her chest is tight. Throat is parched. Her burnt fingers clumsily claw at the cloak heavy around her shoulders, around the clasp secured at her neck.

She nearly stumbles over a soft shape on the ground in her haste to simply move away from the destruction, the toe of a heel catching on something softer than the heaps of rock and twisted metal, and far lighter.

As her eyes fall upon the body before her, all she can see is the white of the child’s clothes.

Emma collapses to her knees amidst the ruins, a horrible, dying, strangled noise escaping her lips. It’s a scream that matches the others, all noise and desperation, a scream that fills the sky in a horrific symphony of sorrow.

How many times will this world take her children away?

The clasp at her neck finally comes undone. Emma falls forward over singed, blonde hair, and pale, lifeless eyes.

Vaguely, distantly, Emma can still hear screaming.

Screaming…

Her own? Someone else’s? She gathers the broken body to her chest.

Her ears are ringing. Her heart is pounding. There’s still screaming.

Screaming…

Better screaming than quiet. Better than screaming than still. Better screaming than-

Emma reaches up to the white cloak still around her shoulders, roughly tugs the fine cloth free from its place, and with barely responsive fingers, begins to drape the fine cloth over the quiet and still body in her lap. The cloak shrouds the girl in the comfort of fur, covers her burnt face and arms and chest. It swaddled her in a white blanket amidst the blackened rubble.