She knows exactly how long itâs been, since last sheâs locked eyes with him. Knows exactly how many months, weeks and days itâs been since she told him goodbye. Thereâs a lot of ways this couldâve gone, she realises, when sheâs standing there on the streets of venice - baptised in sunlight and staring him in the face. Magda had asked him to come of course, but she never thought he would. She never thought heâd ever set foot outside that chokehold of a organisation and come back to the people that loved him.
Honestly, sheâs not convinced heâs not going to kill her for denying him his child; for cutting him out of a life that wouldâve blossomed with his input - but for all the things she had expected, and all the possible scenarios that had sprung to life in her head; the reality is the one eventuality she hadnât considered. The one outcome, that ultimately had affection overriding any hint of animosity.
Magda doesnât fight the arms that draw her in, even though her muscles tense and her shoulders lock, a kind of requisite stiffness that is both awkward and uncertain. Heâs still so warm though and itâs enough to make her melt, when the heat of proximity is making that stiffness loosen and her body far more compliant to the mouth that is tender and not forceful. Itâs a kiss thatâs overdue. A kiss that says the words that neither of them can. For all the months of not knowing what to do. For the agony of wondering, day after day, where the other was and what they were doing.
Thereâs hesitancy present when her hands rise to cup his face, thumbs drawing tender lines down either cheek when sheâs kissing him back in as much an apology as it is a greeting. Thereâs nothing sordid about it, nothing carnal or impulsive - thereâs just instinct and longing, two feelings intertwined before they have to come up for air.
âCzeĹÄâ Itâs not much of a greeting when her cheeks are flushed, that ruby tinge unmistakable against coppery skin, before her nose is burying itself in the side of his neck and she is holding onto him as if he is the only thing left in this world to keep her afloat. If a kiss can tell him what words canât, then a hug must be the reminder of their truth. Kocham ciÄ, her arms will tell him. Kocham ciÄ, Kocham ciÄ, Kocham ciÄ.
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Mr. C. Xavier
The Hellfire Club
Obligatory hush-hush villainous location
Dear Charles,
I canât believe itâs been three months already, can you? Iâm sorry I havenât written until now. I got too wrapped up in adventuring I think. Weâve been trying to make every second and every day count, or at least to fit as much in to each week as possible before we move on to somewhere else. I wrote to Emma from Venice, I told her about all the things Anya and I have been doing and all the things we still want to do. Weâve been in Croatia this week, trying their variant of pancakes, which proved to be ridiculously brilliant. Iâm not sure Anyaâs as big a fan of cinnamon as I am, she keeps pulling faces at the smell - but I know if anyone would appreciate the culinary finery of it, it would be you.
Weâre doing okay. A lot of sightseeing at the moment. Thereâs no zoo here like there was before and weâre a little far from the seaside, but the buildings are beautiful. Thereâs a church in the capital, with windows that look like theyâve been carved from jewels. I know itâs more for my benefit, than an infantâs - but I think Anya could appreciate the appeal of the rainbow light with the sun was shining, even if she doesnât much care for scenes of the crucifixion or the holy virgin.
I think I might have to take her somewhere a little more child friendly next. Maybe well go to Dubrovnik before we leave, to play on another beach and make sand angels. We found some pretty shells last time, I saved one for Erik, but I never got around to sending it. I donât know why I thought heâd be so enamoured with this little silvery white shell - maybe itâs something to do with the sound. I always loved being able to hear the ocean in them. I never cared much for the actual science which ruined the magic, but being able to pretend youâre at the seaside, even when weâre miles away, seemed like it might help.
Anyaâs started talking more. Not actual words of course, but she does like to babble with strangers. It seems so silly watching her discover her own mouth, learning sounds for the first time and that little look of stunned realisation when she realises itâs her doing it and not somebody else. I wish you could hear her, Charles. I wish you could see the way her face lights up when sheâs babbling through âmamamamamamaâ like a tiny little train. I love her. I love this little munchkin so very, very much.
I love you too, of course, and so does she. Iâve actually enclosed some tea and sweets weâve stumbled upon around Europe, which will hopefully help you feel loved. There was originally some toffee too, but it never made it home to the hotel, let alone the post office. I am sorry. If itâs any consolation though, I can tell you it was tooth-achingly delicious. To soften the blow a little, Anyaâs made you a picture too. We discovered the joy of painting her feet the other day (and yes, alright there was a lot of my artistic skill involved too) but the foot butterflies are a bonafide team effort, I swear. We thought it might look nice on your dresser.
Howâre things anyway? I never heard back from Emma, so I donât know whether thatâs a good or bad thing. I presume youâre all still busy, trying to keep the lord and master happy in his little cocoon of insanity. Is the wedding still happening? Is Erik alright? And your sister? Are you? I know Iâm not exactly in a position to be able to whisk you off your feet or to fix anything even if you did tell me it was running as appallingly bad as usual - but I care, Charles. I worry about you. About all of you. Youâre my family - even all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.
If I could find a way to do it, Iâd come back and steal you all to safety myself. Maybe just throw a big olâ cape over everyone and smuggle you out as if thereâs nothing to see. Thatâd work right? âLook over there Shaw, a nuclear warheadâ And just let you all run the other way while heâs distracted. I wish it were that easy. I wish life were simple in general, but nothing ever goes to plan - and sometimes those little hiccoughs turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you.
Youâre one of those things, you know. The unexpected things that turned out to be amazing. You gave Erik back a little piece of himself, you put the fight back in him, the tenacity, the ferocity. You gave Emma solidarity, you gave the rest of us hope. And the night I left, because of what we did in the library, two has now became three. Congratulations ahuvi - our familyâs growing.
Which sounds ridiculous doesnât it? I didnât really want to tell you in a letter. I wanted to sit down with you, have a cup of tea, make sure you werenât going to panic - but since I canât come back there, I couldnât exactly not tell you. Itâs going well though. Thereâs no sickness, no aches, none of the problems I had with Anya - thereâs just the sweet tooth (which I blame you for) andâŚI donât know how to explain it. Feelings probably sum it up best. Itâs like I can feel everything, what everyone else is feeling - or maybe Iâm going mad, it wouldnât surprise me.
As far as plans go, Iâm going to carry on doing what Iâm doing. Iâm going to keep travelling with Anya, keep exploring the world and sending you tea and postcards. Iâll probably settle down after the six month mark, maybe just take up residence somewhere in the mountains and stop being so active. Itâll be getting cooler by then anyway, so itâs probably better for Anya. We can make snowmen - or maybe a snow family so that Papa Erik andâŚwell I suppose itâs Papa Charles now too, can be here in spirit if not in body.
Aaaaand, now that the cute olâ elephant in the room has been addressed, I think Iâd better get back to more pressing endeavours. I want to know whatâs going on. I understand the radio silence. I know itâs hard to get letters to people when you donât know where theyâll be or when youâve got a surprisingly observant Nazi breathing down your neck, but talk to me Charles. Let me know youâre all still alive. That youâve not taken to killing each other yet. Even if itâs just a quick note to say, nobodyâs been murdered, thatâs all I ask.
Can you keep an eye on Emma for me? Can you make sure sheâs eating enough, that sheâs talking to someone, even if itâs only to tell them to bugger off? I suppose the same is true of Erik. Make sure he talks to you. Make sure he doesnât keep the secrets I know he likes to shoulder alone. As for you, I need you to stay out of trouble. I need you to stay strong and safe and possibly try to convince your sister that sheâs better off elsewhere before Shaw can sink his claws into her.
Itâs a tall order, I know. All of these things are so much easier said than done, but I have to ask. You know I do. I wish you were here. I wish I could just cuddle all you and make this mess go away.  Iâll be in Paris in July, if you canâŚsneak yourself away. I wonât hold my breath of course, I know the impossible tends to make things difficult, but I know if anyone would be able to find us, itâd be you.
Take care of yourself, Charles - and Iâll promise to do the same.
Kocham CiÄ
- M x
PS. Â Anyaâs smiling again. Tell Erik she looks like Edie. Heâll understand.Â
Ms. E. Frost
The Hellfire Club,
Somewhere Ridiculously Expensive,
Ambiguously secret location is secret.
Emma,
Iâve been meaning to write to you for what feels like forever. How long has it been now? I thought it might be easier to put things on paper, but I guess the whole literacy argument turned into a bit of a disaster. As you can see though, a certain someone worked his magic. Thereâs still a few hiccoughs now and then, words I donât know or grammar that somehow turns to gĂłwno, but at least you can translate what Iâm trying to say, without need for more than a few glasses of chianti and a dictionary.
Weâre doing okay, I think. Adventures with an infant are surprisingly more fun than they sound. Weâve just spent the last week in Venice, which was nice. Have you ever been? The canals reminded me of you. Or at least, the pretty woman rolling her eyes at a crooning gondolier does. One day I think we should all come back for the carnival, all those masks, the colours, the dresses, itâs another world and sometimes I get a little tired of this one.
Sheâs getting bigger you know. Everyday I swear she starts to look a little more like Erik and I donât know if thatâs a good or bad thing. Sheâs going to break hearts, thatâs for sure, but then I think youâd already guessed that much. I think she misses you too. Iâm not sure if you noticed, but before I left I borrowed one of your earrings. (And I do say borrowed, rather than stolen - because I have every intention of returning it to you eventually.) I donât know if they were from Shaw or something you picked yourself, but itâs become a piece of treasure wherever we go. I like to hang it above her crib, so that when the light hits it in just the right spot, it sends tiny rainbows dancing around her head. I know thatâs ridiculous and sentimental in ways we really ought not to be - but itâs the only kind of magic we can cling to sometimes. Some thought of a far off place where everyoneâs actually together again.
I thought it might be easier, being here while youâre all there - but I think in hindsight I didnât quite think this plan through. I like the travelling. I like going from place to place, collecting postcards and taking photos. The freedom of it is liberating, it reminds me of my parents and of home - but I wonât lie and say itâs not lonely. I wonât pretend I donât miss conversations with people that can more than babble back, or that know the intricacies of everything thatâs happened rather than strangers that youâre never sure you can entirely trust. Iâm not even sure how much longer I can afford to keep doing this either, but workâs in plentiful supply. I think I might try Spain next, see if any seamstresses are hiring and try and come up with something that way.
I mean, alright, technically Charles set up a bank account -  did he tell you? It was a sum of money that had far too many zeros for my liking, so I havenât touched it. I donât like the idea of being traced. Of being found by the very people I left to get away from. Besides, you understand that too donât you? Not wanting to be somebodyâs charitable cause. Anya isnât even his problem, neither am I, butâŚI donât know. Maybe heâs trying to compensate for Erikâs indifference? Maybe heâs just trying to be nice. In any case, Iâd rather be working. I was never cut out for the socialite life, I donât look half as good in silk and pearls as you do.
Speaking of, are you alright? Are you handling things? I know the pains you go through to keep the devil happy,  the things you endure for the sake of those around you. It makes me worry about you; but I also canât admire your strength enough. Are you still really planning on going through with it? The wedding I mean? I know youâll look lovely in the dress and the flowers too will probably be impeccable, but the idea of being tethered to that man, itâsâŚunfathomable. You deserve better Emma. You deserve, so, so much better. Hasnât Erik asked? OrâŚanyone else, that is younger, suaver and decidedly less twisted?
Iâll come back myself and steal you into the sunset if I have to. Elopementâs still a thing right? We can have an island somewhere. Or a cottage in the middle of nowhere, or one of those fancy ski lodges you always see in magazines. You deserve an escape. You deserve to be a person instead of an incubator on legs. Thatâs how he sees you, you know he does. Some trophy to hang on his arm, and warm his bed in the interests of procreation. What about the things you want? The places you want to go? The life you want to live? Whereâs your wellbeing in all this? Whereâs your chance at something you choose and want for a change?
I didnât mean for that to come out quite so militantly. I know weâve not always seen eye to eye, but you are a good person. You are intelligent and strong and fierce in all the ways people like to pretend youâre not. I just donât want you to self destruct because one rat sunk his teeth in. I want you to be happy. To be healthy. To be yourself and not worry for one second about it coming back to haunt you.
You are at least eating arenât you? I know the cookingâs terrible without me to keep everyone in check, but even if itâs just a piece of fruit, you need to keep your strength up. You need to throw open those curtains and dust off the cobwebs. Put on your face, paint those lips red and look like the million dollar queen you are - so that when you do inevitably cut him down to size and stamp that insipid little man into the ground where he belongs, at least you can do it with style.
Somewhere I swear, Erikâs probably smiling right now. I donât think Iâve ever condoned violence towards anyone before, so you might have to keep this little tirade between you and me. I trust your secret keeping, moreso than I perhaps trust anyone elseâs. I still have more to tell you, but perhaps today isnât the time. I need to tell someone else first, about happy mistakes and the legacy theyâve left. Make of that what you will, but take it to the grave, kochanie.
I think Anyaâs waking up. I should probably go. Weâre catching the train to Milan today. I might try and find some fabric to make her a dress. If youâre lucky, maybe Iâll send you one too. Look after yourself and certainly donât sell yourself short. Youâre no manâs island, Emma. No matter how much the wind howls, or the waves crash and seek to break you down - you are the rock. You are the constant. You are everything.
The concern is unheralded, perhaps even unwanted, but here within
this gilded cage, the walls still talk. She knows perhaps that the club
can grate upon oneâs nerves, that it can overwhelm in ways that you
never really know how to explain until youâve experienced it, but sheâs
seen the way he hides behind a scotch glass, drowning out god only
knows what to try and keep his grip on sanity and reality combined.
Maybe itâs different for him. Heâs a mutant after all, much like everyone
bar herself, but some aspects of this life are universal. The painted smiles
and tightly clipped words, the underlying fear of daring to break the facade
something that aches deep within the bones of even the most steeled of men.
Sheâs surprised Charles hasnât chased him away yet, that nobodyâs told him
to run and never once dare to look back. Maybe he has his reasons. Maybe
they both do, but she suspects that wonât help much in the hear and now.
Magda is tired, but sheâs making the time, nudging a cup of cocoa across the
table and trying to coerce some form of conversation from James with
marshmallow and cream laced clemency. Sheâs trying to help the best way
she knows how and comfort, however small, is never a hardship to give.
The note is dropped, forgotten, as Max moves to the bedside in sheer awe - disbelief - at the miracle cuddled up in Magdaâs arms. He settles beside them, thumb reaching instinctively to swipe across that tiny, wrinkled forehead. âHallo, bisl eynerâŚâ All of the worry from before - the distance, the terror, the this is wrong - vanishes in the instant he strokes that little face.
He doesnât realise his eyes are wet until the first sob chokes out of his throat, free hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyes fixed on that tiny little bundle. His child. Their child.
âSheâs beautiful, Magda, sheâs perfect. I didnât knowâIâd have been here soonerââ
Itâs not exactly how sheâd planned this, but then again, she hadnât known what to expect. She was cut off from the people she mightâve asked, overlooked like some kind of life-ruining pariah at a time she couldâve really done with more support. The months had passed too quickly, feeling far more like days and weeks than any grand expanse of time, but for whatever the reason and whatever the struggle, the outcome had justified it all.
âWe managed.â And managed is exactly the word. A towel, some string, a bowl of water and scissors. Unprepared she may have been, but unequipped she was not. Sheâs not sure what use Erik wouldâve been had he made an appearance. It wasnât exactly the most pleasant of experiences bringing new life into the world, and while yes, she wouldâve loved someone to hold her hand and tell her that she wasnât dying during the throes of contractions, itâs probably for the best that heâd been nowhere near.
Eyes half closed, sheâs shifting slightly, offering up that tiny little girl to the man who deserves equal credit for her creation. âBesides, youâd have been out cold in less than a minute the second things gotâŚsticky.â How wry a tease it is, yet not far from the truth, Magda would argue. Sheâs happy though, even in her weary state, and maybe just a little relieved that heâs come at all. Sheâd thought after the distance and generalâŚapathy, that he might spurn them both.
âYou can hold her you know. Sheâs too gummy to bite.â
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There is a whisper that is at once warm as breath and ice-cold against the nape of her neck, elegant fingers curling through her hair. It is so soft it is barely audible, but the ferocity in it is blistering. "The moment he's gone, you'll be mine."
    For the past week Magdaâs been on edge, itâs only natural she suspects    given the circumstance, but Emma is far from helping. Like clockwork,     Magda has been to her every day, bringing food that remains scarcely     touched, trying to coerce her from bed and being met with only cool     apathetic resolve. Itâs not the brunetteâs fault, sheâd like to argue, wants    to tell Emma, that despite common assumptions, sheâs suffering too, but    there are no words that come, no ripple of fight left in her throat when     for the first time in days, the White Queen herself deigns to speak.
    Theyâre friends arenât they? Or so Magda had come to think. In the beginning    it mightâve been a rocky alliance, but sheâs come to enjoy the telepathâs     presence, at least for the most part - but that had been before this mess.     Maybe thatâs why the words sting, blistering against her skin as she turns to    look at the woman in question with wounded discomfort. Maybe sheâs reading    too far into it, maybe sheâs taking offence where none is meant, but her history    and her life to date, make it hard to ignore the inference they carry, whether     intentional or not. She is nobodyâs person, except her own. She is nobodyâs    joy nor sadness - she is simplyâŚthe catalyst for someone elseâs pain.
          â â People arenât property and I have work to do, Ms.Frost.                   Your claim will have to wait another day.
