Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel Comics and are being used for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The story is mine.

Note: This takes place in a parallel dimension where Illyana's powers are heightened and require an immense effort to keep dormant. In other words, if she loses her concentration, the world could be sucked up into one of her stepping disks.

Someone turns on the television and I hear the reporter say, "Five thousand people died today when strange, white disks appeared in the middle of some of the United States' largest cities. According to eyewitness testimony, large, demon-like creatures, possibly mutants, emerged from the holes and began to wreck havoc. I repeat, five thousand killed today..."

I bury my head in my hands, wishing for the words to go away, to just disappear. "Turn it off," I whisper under my breath as I feel the tears start to gather at the corners of my eyes.

Five thousand people are dead because of me. Five thousand.

My breath starts catching in my throat and coming out in small gasps. The tears push their way out of my eyes and trail down my cheeks. With shaking hands, I smooth my shoulder length white blond hair and wipe the water from my face. I can feel their eyes on me, pity in their gazes, remorse in every glance. I want to scream at them, tell them to stop gawking and DO something.

I jump when a hand settles softly upon my shoulder. "Illyana?" the voice mutters into my ear. "Illyana, it wasn't your fault."

My heart shatters with those simple words. Of course, it was my fault. Who else controls portals into hell itself? No one. Just me. My fault. Five thousand...I start to sob into my hands.

Dani continues on in her relentless efforts to console me. "Illyana, don't beat yourself up about this. It really wasn't your fault."

Anger builds up behind my eyes, red hot, searing energy that burns into the core of me. "Get away from me!" I scream, jerking away from her. "What the hell would you know about it, huh, Dani? What would you know?" My voice shakes, threatening to break with every word and Dani's eyes are getting large but I cannot stop myself. "If I let myself go even the tiniest bit, I can kill five thousand people. I don't have to think about it." With another sob, my throat fills and I am silenced, shutting all my rage inside, leaving it there to burn another hole in me. "My fault."

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Dani, pale beneath the red skin, eyes drawn together with worry, a small, concerned frown on her lips. It just makes me want to cry more because I don't deserve this kind of sympathy. Not from her. Not from anybody.

"Go away," I mutter, looking up, and my glance falls on every person in the room makes them shudder with the darkness, the cold. "Leave me alone."

Dani shivers, arms wrapped tightly about her thin, waif-like body as she stares at me with those round brown eyes. It's all in her eyes. Every word she wants to say, everything she believes, every move she thinks she should make because it would be right, it would help the situation. She wants to hug me, let me cry on her shoulder while me tells me it's all right. She wants to be the good, hardened leader so much that she is blinded to the face of the enemy that sits within her own ranks.

Sam leans against the doorframe, his light body easily supported by the thick beam. Uneasily, his gaze flickers from the blank television to me. I can almost hear the gears in his mind slowly clicking as he tries, desperately, to decide whom to believe, who to throw his support to. What he doesn't realize is that I don't need him on my side, cheering me along at every turn. I don't need any of them because I have already damned myself to hell and worse. But it is a small comfort to know that he cares.

A small whimper draws my attention to the hunched over form of Rahne, curled in the overstuffed chair, keeping as far away from me as possible while still staying in the same room. She seems to be the only person looking at me properly, staring into my face, and accepting the truth that I am the demon, the monster she always feared, I always feared. I try not to draw strength from her tears and her quiet, muffled please to God. I try not to use them as the stake I will drive into my cold, dead heart.

Doug won't even look at me. He keeps his blue eyes averted, focused on the wall or the view outside the window. I can't help but wonder if he feels a little bit responsible for this. However, I won't blame him, I won't try to set my burden on anyone else's shoulders. Especially not his. This would break him, snap him in two, and leave him twitching in the broad expanse of his mind. He is not ready for a weight as heavy as this.

My hands snake through my hair, twisting around the blond locks and pulling. I have to relieve him of guilt. I have to give him the reassurance no one else can. "Doug," I start and my voice shakes so I stop, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

The blue eyes slowly face me and they are red-rimmed from silent sobbing. They are hard to face, those eyes, harder to face than even the news on the television because they are right here in front of me. But he doesn't say a word. Just looks at me with those puffy, red eyes and waits.

"I..." And my voice fades away, disappearing, sucked into the void of my soul. I steel myself and start again, "Doug, it's not your fault. It's mine."

He shakes his head, confused, and I know my words haven't even made a dent in his armor. "But...but..." he stammers before breaking into airless weeping.

"It's not your fault, Doug. You didn't know. How could you have known? How could anyone but me have known that my concentration was so easily swayed, my powers so uncontrollable, that just one day of forgetting, of letting go and having fun would kill five thousand people? It wasn't your fault. It was mine." I make my eyes link with his, willing him to see the truth so that he can just shake this off and be Doug again.

"But it was my idea," he says, still not ready.

I sigh, biting my lip until blood makes a slow trail down my chin and I can hear Dani gasp and I know she wants to move to my side but she doesn't dare. She doesn't dare. "It was a good idea," I tell him softly, brokenly, trying to avoid swallowing any of my poisoned blood. "It was almost worth the cost."

My mind spins, flipping over onto itself, rolling me into the oblivion of memory until it towers above me like a giant palace, golden and crystal and glowing. I was happy sitting out on the school's grounds, feeling the sunshine play hide and go seek with the shadows on my face. And I was laughing as we went around and around the circle, playing truth or dare or just talking, smiling, and enjoying each other's company. I felt like one of them. I felt like I belonged and I just let go. I let go and killed five thousand people. That was the price for one day of happiness.

I can never be happy again. I can't afford the guilt that comes with the price.

Roughly, I pull away from the past, willing myself back to the room, my eyes again scanning the people who have gathered around me.

`Berto is stoic, silent, and morose, sitting in the high-backed chair by the fireplace, the flames dancing in his dark eyes. There is no battle going on in his mind. His logic and heart aren't waging a war like Sam's are. No, `Berto has come to his own decision. A quiet decision that he hasn't shared with anyone in the room. He just sits there, his face barely visible, but stony, and his eyes so blank.

It pains me to look at him sometimes because of what gets trapped in those dark eyes of his. It hurts to clear away the cobwebs that fall over his feelings and stare headlong into a turbulent sea that can, at any point in time, pull you under and drown you.

Somewhere, behind me, Amara sits, her blue eyes filled with acceptance. When I have time to think upon it, I sometimes come to the realization that, of all the students here, she is the most like me. We are both warriors, tossed from the safety of our worlds into a place unknown to us that is full of dangers we never imagined we would see. Amara doesn't condemn me just as she would have no problem killing someone who betrayed her. We aren't meant for this team of do-gooders, Amara and I.

The eyes start to pound down on my shoulders again. Dani's pleading, wanting to make things better. Sam and his silent war. Rahne's weepy, teary eyes with their images of brimstone and fire. And Doug's eyes so hollow, so guiltful. They beat at me, tearing me open inside until I want to rip my heart out and give it to them just so they'll stop looking at me.

"Please," I mutter, holding my tears inside, not wanting to shed another salt-water dagger in their presence. "Please leave me alone for a while. I want to be left alone."

My pleas fall on deaf ears and they don't move. They don't dare move. They're afraid to turn their backs on me; frightened of the powers that are barely kept silently brewing beneath the surface. In addition, the eyes continued to hit me again and again like the strongest fists the world has ever known. I want to cry under the assault, I would scream until my throat is raw and I am coughing up blood.

I whirl on them, my eyes burning with fire, and I'm holding it in, reigning it all in with my steel grip. "Leave me the hell alone, I said!" I yell at them, keeping my voice low enough not to tip the delicate balance in my mind but firm enough to let them know I mean business.

They start to move, the staring zombies, their eyes move off me and it's like I have just been given the key to heaven. Doug and Sam move out quietly, so still and silent I'd swear they were dead. Rahne makes the sign of the cross as she passes me; her eyes focused on the floor. Amara squeezes my shoulder once, trying to give me strength and compassion, before slipping out of the room.

"Illyana, if you need me..." Dani begins, kneeling down to look me in the eyes.

I wave my hand at her miserably. "I know, I know. If I need you, you'll be there. Okay. Now, please, leave me alone."

She tries to smile but ends up biting her lip and frowning instead. Then she, too, is gone.

Suddenly free from the heavy weight of the eyes, my head lolls forward, chin striking my collarbone, as the tears well up in my eyes. Dare I cry? Dare I let that through the cracks? Should I risk it again?

A velvety voice breaks into my solitude. I had forgotten all about him. "Illyana, she's right," `Berto says, an air of overconfidence in his voice.

I sigh, groaning deep down in my throat. "Who's right?" I demand, glancing over to look at him, to catch his dark eyes on me. However, he hasn't move. He sits, still in his chair, the firelight moving on his eyes, playing across his skin like a game of tag.

"Dani."

"You think Dani's right?" My voice is incredulous, dragged down by everything that has happened in such a brief span of time. I can feel my mind go all light and fluffy and disappear for a bit, leaving me glassy-eyes and empty.

Smooth as silk, he nods.

My hands shake as I push hair off my face and rub at my eyes. "She's not," I exclaim a little too loudly as though I am trying to convince myself as well.

With a sigh of frustration at my hardheaded beliefs, he turns to face me. If I look at him just right, I can see glittering crystals at the corners of his eyes. "There you go, again. Blame yourself, beat yourself down. Endless, painful cycle."

"I don't understand you, Roberto DaCosta. I kill five thousand people and you don't even bat an eyelash." I should be angry; my voice should be filled with ire instead of sounding so empty and broken. "And I thought I was cold."

His eyes narrow. "This tragedy has affected everyone, Illyana. There are some who feel it more deeply than you shall ever know."

Disbelief leaks from me, releasing itself in the form of a sigh. "Don't assume to know how this makes me feel."

"Would I ever dare to presume something like that about you, Sorceress?"

"I don't know. I don't know." My voice cracks and I can feel the tidal wave of my emotions smashing against all the defenses that I have built up. It's so much. It's too much. I can't let it go but I'm not strong enough to hold it inside. Sooner or later, the strain will rip me apart. It's just a matter of time.

`Berto steeples his fingers and looks at me for a long moment. "You are not in control of your powers, correct?"

I nod.

"You did not mean to kill people, to call the demon hoards of Limbo down on them, correct?"

Again, I nod, too afraid of what will happen if I speak.

Cautiously, he leans forward in his chair, hesitant to be near me but coming ever closer. "Then it is not really your fault."

"You don't understand. You don't," I wail as the sobs rush through my body again.

He returns to his pervious position, sighing in disgust. "Explain it to me."

I've never seen `Berto be so patient with people, especially me. He's like a burst of fire, this one, full of rage and possessed of a temper that's worse than mine is. We scare each other from time to time. There's so much about us that's the same; we're echoes. He looks at me and sees what could be. I look at him and see what was, what I lost. It's unsettling and we both know about it but we're too proud to say anything.

My palms flatten out against my face. "How? How, `Berto? I can't find the words."

As he begins to speak, his gaze goes blank, as though he is suddenly looking inside instead of out. "You find yourself drowning, lost in a turbulent sea of emotions and you're afraid to touch any of them because you don't want to loose control. People could die so easily if you let the reigns go and just experience something without holding some part of you back. It rises in you like a wave, this desire, this need to just let go, to be one of the group, to know the totality of life but you're so scared, you're completely terrified, of becoming the monster that's inside you. So you run away, lock yourself in a room with one window and, everynight, you steal glances out that pane, with wistful eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the whole world and knowing you never will because you're not part of that world. You can't be part of that world."

"Are we still talking about me?" I inquire when he has finished speaking and the tears on my face are beginning to dry.

There is silence and I wrap my arms around my body, trying to hold myself together in the deluge of guilt, fear, and pain that threatens to toss me headfirst into something I can't deal with. Funny that there should be something that I can't deal with. I've lived through hell. I was tortured, raped, beaten, and broken but I dealt with all that. I let it slide away from me like water rolling off a fresh wax job. It all went away.

But this stays. This creeps inside my heart and digs it's fingers in, crooning to me in a soft voice. You have never killed before, it says. Never have so many died because of you, because of your foolishness. Wouldn't it have been better to have stopped fighting all those years ago, to have just given up and submitted? Don't you wish that you had had the courage to slit those pretty wrists now that you've seen what your survival brought? Don't you, Illyana Rasputin? Well, don't you?

A slight moan filters up through my throat and I hang my head. Nevertheless, the voice won't shut up. It's encased in my heart, my soul. As much a part of my as Limbo or my sorcery. Those are the parts that it clings to, worms its way through, for those are my mistakes. They have made me what I am today, broken, bitter, guilt-ridden.

`Berto finally blinks, his mind coming back to the here and now, pulling away from whatever past hell has held him in its warm grasp, strangling to life from his soul. "In a way," he murmurs an answer to my question that has died in the air.

My walls start to crack and I can feel the pounding, the swarming buzz of bottled emotions, of trapped realizations, of things I never faced. "But you were talking about yourself, too, weren't you?"

"Nobody ever says anything without putting a tiny bit of themself into it," he tells me and I just want to reach out and choke his philosophical neck. I don't need that crap right now.

"Lovely sentiment, `Berto. Let's put it in a greeting card," I snap at him. Rage always finds its way out first. I have the least control over that one because it's so hot, it burns like fire, reminds me of the searing pain that came from S'ym's touch. Therefore, I let rage go, I let it sweep its flames over me instead of containing it like I should.

The fireplace sputters, casting strange shadows over his face, dancing against his eyes again, stripping the mask off, and leaving him vulnerable in the light. "I am trying to help you, Illyana. I have been sitting here keeping my temper and trying to help you. But you don't seem to appreciate it at all!"

Guilt marches through my heart with her oceans of bitter salt tears and her head hanging down so that the wet, blood soaked hair covers her contorted face. I feel the first pang of her influence reach up and grab me sternly by the throat. He's trying to help you, she hisses in the voice of old age, of death coming round the bend, whistling a song with a smile on his skull face. He wants to help and you snap at him. You killed people. Your fault. Yours alone. But he wants to help.

I fight her, shaking my head and struggling for all I'm worth. She haunts my dreams, walks upon my soul with feet so cold they burn. At night, I can feel her leeching my strength from me, sapping it all up until I wake up, crying to be left alone. But even then I can hear her soft keening wail at the back of my head and I know, I know that tomorrow night she will walk the halls of my heart, my soul again and that there is nothing I can do to stop her.

I close my eyes. "Leave me alone. I'm sorry." The words flow together into one mindless rambling plea that doesn't make any sense to me and my ears. "My fault."

"You really are a mess, aren't you, Illyana Rasputin?" A hand touches the top of my head and I fight he urge to jerk away from it. I didn't even hear him get up. However `Berto can be like that if he wants to be, eerily quiet, collected.

One of my emotions tugs at my heart, begging to be noticed but then guilt sweeps her away because she is so small, hardly there at all. I catch a tiny glimpse of her through the bars in my cage and she is beautiful, this lost emotion. All shades of pink and red, with bright red hair that tumbles over her fair shoulders and she casts a smile at me when she catches my eyes on her. That's when I know her, when I see those pearly pink eyes, she becomes real to me. I have just forsaken love and it hurts more than the cold sting of guilt or the fiery tongue of despair.

He tangles his fingers in my hair. "What just happened?" he inquires, as though pain is radiating off me and he can feel it.

I reach my hand up, intent on getting his fingers out of my hair, not expecting to wrap my own fingers around his dark skin like I needed his touch to survive. "My heart just broke in two," I confess, my eyes still closed, locked shut against the visions of the real world. In the background, I hear the fire pop.

"Guilt walks your soul and heart like a martyr with her cross," `Berto mutters and the profound statement makes me want to laugh for I never knew he was like this, never in my wildest dreams did I dare hope he'd be like this. And I clutch his hand and pray that this isn't a dream because I need it to be real. I need something to be real.

"Five thousand, `Berto," I choke out and my eyes snap open as though I'm expecting the legions of the dead to rise up and rip my cold heart out.

Insistently, his fingers twist out of my grip. I cling to him, wanting him to stay, needing to touch something real, to assure myself that I am not dead. He strolls around the chair, coming to rest in front of me, looking down at my huddled form in the chair with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "How did you feel?"

"What?"

A frown pulls his lips down. "When we were all outside, laughing, talking, how did you feel?"

Again, my mind cheers with the prospect of diving back into that memory, of just digging its heels in and staying there forever. "I was free. I was happy."

"Free?" His fingers trace along my cheek.

Guilt and love start to battle in the landscape of my heart. Love dries guilt's tears and leads the woman to a stream so that she can wash the blood out of her hair. But the salt eats away at love's hands until the two emotions merge and fuse, becoming something that has no name except in the spaces between dreams and the gap that hangs in front of life and behind death.

I nod, turning my head to escape his fingers.

"To be free. To love free. To live free," `Berto says suddenly, unexpectedly.

Confusion, in his multicolored capes, swirls into my mind, cracking his staff against my memories, jumbling all the facts I have learned. "What's that from?" I question `Berto, looking at him, looking into him through the black stained portals that are his eyes.

Smoothly, he shrugs and backs away, his touch lingering like a phantom's hand on my face. "I don't remember." He settles himself into the high-backed chair, looking at the fire and me at the same time.

"What now?" My voice shakes, my hands shake, the little voice at the bottom of my soul keeps chittering away, but its words are lost now, unable to find purchase in my ears.

"We wait for the sunrise." Graceful hands brush against his dark curls and I want to reach out and touch him. I want to assure myself that he is real and will not fade away when the first rays of the dawns smile float through the window.

I curl my body into a tighter ball, fully aware of his eyes on me. "Why?"

He smiles. A smile that is like the voice of an angel or the sight of dry land after being lost at sea for weeks. Heaven is in that smile. "Everything always looks better in the daylight, Illyana."

The End