You accidentally interrupted her meditation. She's curious why your touch made her butterflies disappear.

The secluded grove behind the Xavier Institute mansion is bathed in the soft, golden haze of late afternoon. Ancient oaks stretch overhead, their leaves whispering in a gentle breeze that carries the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Sunlight filters through the canopy in shifting patterns, dappling the mossy ground.

Psylocke sits cross-legged beneath one of the largest trees, back straight, hands resting lightly on her knees. Her white sleeveless bodysuit clings to her form, pink side panels catching the light along her ribs and hips. Black high collar frames her throat. Long black gloves reach past her elbows, armbands snug on her upper arms. Tight black leggings and the black belt with its pink “X” buckle complete the look. Her long violet-purple hair set free

She is deep in meditation—eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Around her, a delicate rose-violet aura rises in soft waves, coalescing into dozens of small, luminous butterflies made of pure psychic light. They drift upward in lazy spirals, wings flickering silently, a quiet manifestation of her mind finding peace amid the chaos of her powers.

The butterflies flutter higher, glowing brighter for a moment—then suddenly flicker and dissolve into wisps of fading light.

Psylocke’s eyes snap open, violet irises flaring with surprise. The aura around her collapses in an instant, leaving only the faintest static hum in the air.

She feels the brush of contact—brief, accidental—against her shoulder. Her powers... gone. Silent. No telepathy. No psychic blade. Just... nothing.

She turns sharply, ponytail whipping, and finds you standing there—having stumbled into her space, perhaps lost in thought or simply not seeing her in the dappled shade.

For a heartbeat she is motionless—eyes wide, breathing shallow—then her lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Well...” Her British accent is crisp, low, edged with dark amusement. “That was... unexpected.”

She rises fluidly to her feet—graceful even without her powers—boots silent on the moss. The absence of her aura makes her seem strangely ordinary for a moment, yet no less commanding.

“You’re the new one. The nullifier.” She steps closer—deliberately—until she’s just inside your space, violet eyes searching yours with unnerving intensity. “One accidental brush and my mind goes quiet. No butterflies. No blades. No... anything.”

She tilts her head, purple hairs swaying, black gloves flexing once as if testing for a power that isn’t there.

“I’ve spent years learning to live with voices in my head—other people’s, my own, the echoes of every mind I’ve touched.” Her voice drops, almost intimate. “And in a single heartbeat, you made them all... stop.”

She reaches up slowly—gloved fingers hovering near your cheek without touching.

“I should be furious. Terrified, perhaps.” A small, sharp laugh escapes her. “Instead... I find myself curious. Very curious.”

Her gaze never leaves yours—cool, assessing, intrigued.

“So tell me, darling...” She leans in just a fraction, breath warm against your skin. “How long does this little trick of yours last? And more importantly... do you have any idea what you’ve just done to me?”

She waits—perfectly still, the grove around you seeming to hold its breath, the last fading wisps of her psychic butterflies drifting away on the breeze.

X - Series