Part One: Self Loathing
Elizabeth Braddock sat on the edge of the window, staring up into the pitch blackness that had become the sky. Not a single star shone its light down on her and not even the moon could spare a smile. Betsy brushed a lock of dark purple hair off her face and continued to stare into nothingness.
The blackness, which had always frightened her as a child, had suddenly become her best friend. It was as though the darkness wanted her to be one with it and she wasn't all that sure she didn't want what it had to offer. But even as tempting as the offer was, Betsy was human again.
With a sigh, she traced the mark on her face. The red mark that heralded her as one who owed her life to the powers of the mystical Crimson Dawn. Lots of hype for one little mark. A mark that had just caused the great ordeal she and her semi-estranged boyfriend, Warren Worthington III, had been through.
And yes, it was nice to know that he loved her that much. So much that he had offered bits and pieces of his soul, his life, to keep hers from the hands of the Crimson Dawn repo man. That was why she felt so awful now. Betsy wasn't sure whether or not she would have done the same for him. She loved him...or thought she did.
It was a toss up for the poor girl. She couldn't recall ever being in love with someone before. There were a lot of experiences she had never known. The only taste of love she had ever felt were the memories of Kwannon, the woman whose body she now possessed.
Betsy tucked another lock of hair behide her ear and watched the quiet night sky. It would be so easy to just let herself fall. Like a butterfly whose wings are torn and is gliding helplessly down. Such a high as that she had never known.
Oh yes, Elizabeth Braddock had stared death in the eyes many times and had never shown any fear. But that had no thrill to it. That had danger for then she had no reason to die. No chance of losing. Now she had nothing to lose and death was something grand.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Warren slip from the bedroom into the kitchen. He looked at her once with his sky blue eyes then shook his head and continued walking. A small tear formed in her right eye and she quickly brushed it away. She could not risk her life. Not now. It would have affected Warren too deeply. For even if he wasn't sure that he loved her, she could see that he did and the knowledge killed her.
With a deep sigh, Betsy pulled herself off the window frame and touched her feet to the polished marble floor of the apartment. She walked into the kitchen and watched Warren get a glass of water.
"Trouble sleeping?" she asked.
He turned to her and pushed a hand through his light blond hair. "Yeah."
"Want to talk?"
"Not today, Betsy. Not today," and with that he walked back into the bedroom leaving her feeling more alone than she ever had.
Part Two: Regrets and Painful Dreams
Warren Worthington walked back into the bedroom and watched as Betsy went back to sit on the windowledge. He could see that his words had hurt her from the way she walked and held herself. He hadn't meant to hurt her but he just wasn't ready to share the dream with her. It was one in a series of horrible, recurring dreams that had plagued him for years now.
Absently, he sat down on the side of the large, round bed and dragged a hand through his short, disheveled blond hair. With no real interest, he allowed himself to study the room as his mind went over and over the dream.
It was a nice room, walls painted in loveliest, lightest blue he could find. A blue that mimicked the sky when it was covered by white, fluffy clouds. The bed was pressed up against the north wall and was made up with darker blue sheets, and pillows that as soft as lamb fleece. On either side of the bed was a small, cedar night table. The table on his side had a phone, a book, and a small navy lamp. Books and papers, along with CD cases and empty ink pens cluttered Betsy's table.
Warren sighed then growled as he scratched his forehead. The dream was still there, full and fresh in his mind and it didn't seem to be going away at all.
The same dream. The worst recurring dream he had ever had. It had troubled him for months. Since before he saved Betsy's life with the Crimson Dawn. Of course considering the stress and trauma he had just gone through by almost loosing Betsy again it wasn't really that hard to imagine why the dream had come back.
He shifted his weight slightly and then lay on the bed, his blue eyes starring up at the white ceiling. His eyes fluttered slowly closed and the images of the dream started again...
"Warren! Warren, save me!" the voice echoed through his mind and he turned, white wings pressed close against his back, toward the shadows where the sound had come.
"Betsy?" he inquired as he took a step forward.
"No, lover. It's me, Candy," she commented as she stepped into the light. Candy. Candy Southern, his second love, HIS angel. In the fleeting light, she stood, a vision in a tight, black dress. Her hair, black, flowed down her back and her eyes danced as she looked at him.
"Candy," he breathed, the words so light on his tongue. But Candy was dead. Long dead. Hodge had brought her back as a thing...mostly machine but still in love with him. And as she had died for the second time, Warren had held her and stared fondly into her brown eyes.
"Yeah, lover, it's Candy," she reassured him and took a step closer. Her smile was dazzling and warm like a ray of sunlight. One of her hands touched his arm and her touch was so gentle, just like he remembered.
From the dark something flashed. A red light that toyed with his vision. Warren shook his head and pulled away from Candy's light touch. "Candy, I...I can't. You're dead. I love Betsy."
Something in Candy's eyes flared. "Who's Betsy?" she questioned, disdain evident in her normally honey sweet voice.
Ah yes, Warren remembered this part of Candy. She was dangerously jealous and demanding. Dangerously possessive. Candy had hated Jean just for being Warren's friend because she knew, she knew that a part of Warren would always love Jean and only Jean. Now those brown eyes flared evilly at the thought of him loving Betsy.
"Betsy. Elizabeth Braddock. I love her, Candy. I love her more than I ever loved you and more than I ever loved Jean. Betsy touches some special place inside me that I didn't even know was there before. I'm sorry, Candy, really I am," he explained.
Candy was silent. Her lips pressed so tightly together that they were white under the harsh, red lipstick. Then she snapped her fingers and the darkness was gone. "Is that Betsy?" Candy questioned as she pointed to something.
Warren turned and his blue eyes widened. Yes, it was Betsy. His soulmate, a kindred soul, his better half, was tied to a strange piece of latticework. The once long dark purple hair had been shaved off and her head was covered in a million tiny stitches. Her body was beaten and torn and bloody. Warren barely even recognized her and his eyes filled with tears. The only thing to identify her with was the red Crimson Dawn mark on the left side of her face.
"No. No, not Betsy. Not my love, my life. No!" he screamed and fell to the ground with a deep throated sob.
And Candy stood over him, eyes narrowed and a scowl on her pretty face. "Yes, Warren. Yes. She had to pay for stealing you. And you have to pay for replacing me with her!" There was pain and blood as Candy ripped his wings off like they were paper. Warren's screams of pain died in the heavy air. Then Candy smiled and set a pair of metal wings on his back. The metal dug in, using claws to secure itself to his flesh.
"Why Candy? Why?" Warren muttered with pain.
"Don't worry, lover, you can still fly. That's all that matters," she laughed gleefully.
Warren woke up screaming. The dream had changed. It had become darker, more terrifying. Tears started to rush down his pallid, blue face.
"Shhh," someone said and gentle, long fingered hands brushed away his tears and stroked his face.
He turned to find Betsy next to him in bed. "Betsy...it was horrid. It was...it was..." he started but couldn't say anything else over the sobs that shook his body.
"Shhh, Warren. It's okay. Everything's okay. It was just a dream. Just a little dream," she soothed as she held him and twined his hair around his fingers and wiped away the tears. As he cried, Betsy bite her lip and wondered about the dream. The anguish he had felt had hit her like a stone wall, effectively shattering every mental wall she had erected and leaving her own thoughts exposed and vulnerable. She was starting to think there was more to this dream than just left over guilt and pain. It had been said long ago that dreams had power and now Betsy was starting to wonder if that had any truth to it.
