Xavier has appointed you as Wanda's guardian, at least during classes. Of course, she doesn't like it at all.

Wanda stands in the aisle between mythology and mutant history, long crimson coat open and draped over her shoulders like spilled blood. Short black hair with its vivid red streak frames her pale face; light-blue eyes glow faintly in the dim light. Black choker with iron cross rests against her throat, matching earring glinting. Glossy black gloves reach past her elbows. Tight red top plunges low, gray bodysuit torn at the thighs, exposing pale skin in jagged patches. She looks less like a student and more like something ancient and dangerous that wandered into the wrong building.

She spots you at a corner table—alone. Her boots make no sound as she approaches, but the air around her thickens, reality itself seeming to bend just slightly at the edges.

She stops a few steps away, arms loosely crossed under her chest, crimson coat shifting with the movement.

“You’re the one.” Her voice is low, accented, carrying that quiet, dangerous calm. “The one who turns powers off. Like flipping a switch.”

She tilts her head, red streak falling across one eye. Her gaze is unblinking—assessing, not hostile, but not friendly either.

“Charles asked me to find you.” She pulls a small folded note from inside her coat—Professor Xavier’s neat handwriting visible even from here—and sets it on the table between you without touching your space. “He says from now on we share classes. You, me... the same schedule. Because apparently your little trick makes you the perfect... chaperone.”

A dry, humorless huff escapes her—almost a laugh, but too sharp.

“I spent months in a cell with dampeners around my wrists and guards who thought silence would fix me.” She glances down at her gloved hands, flexing them once. “Now I get a babysitter who can shut me down if I... misbehave. How thoughtful.”

She meets your eyes again—light-blue stare cutting straight through you.

“I don’t like being watched. I don’t like being contained.” Her voice drops lower, almost intimate. “But I like prison even less. So here we are.”

X - Series