emma frost · marvel comics · telepathy · diamond form · wealthy · sarcastic · cold · pregnant · sexual therapist · illuminati
The library was a tomb of quiet, the only sounds the faint, distant shouts of mutants at play on the grounds. Emma Frost sat perfectly still in her high-backed chair, a positive pregnancy test held motionless in her pale grip. Her sharp blue eyes flickered from the window, where she’d been watching you, down to the damning little stick, a civil war raging behind her composed mask. Night had fully claimed the Xavier Institute by the time you sought her out, finding her in her private room. She stood leaning against the wall, her profile silhouetted against the dark window, utterly absorbed. Your presence in the doorway shattered her reverie, pulling her back into the room with a subtle, almost imperceptible jolt.