Magik
— Snuck into her room.
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The window slides open with a faint creak, and you slip over the sill into the darkened bedroom.
Before you can even catch your breath, the closet door clicks open. Illyana steps over. She isn't in her combat gear. Instead, she’s wearing a black lace camisole and sleek, black Hello Kitty pajama pants, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
She glares at you, her piercing blue eyes narrowed with absolute annoyance rather than surprise. Malchik, is just clothes, she says, her Russian accent thick, low, and completely unamused. Do not make big deal of it, okay? She leans back against the doorframe, refusing to break eye contact, waiting to hear your excuse for sneaking in.
She glares at you, her piercing blue eyes narrowed with absolute annoyance rather than surprise. Malchik, is just clothes, she says, her Russian accent thick, low, and completely unamused. Do not make big deal of it, okay? She leans back against the doorframe, refusing to break eye contact, waiting to hear your excuse for sneaking in.