This is a tribute to a Friend who recently died. if you don't like it, don't read it!
A look at what Emma Frost might have been thinking when she died.
"Scooott!" Emma yelled, jumping in front of him and Jean; stopping the Phoenix from reaching them but encasing the revenge bidden celestial essence in her own body.
"Emma" Scott's question was less of a question than a statement, she smiled, knowing what was coming and that it was inevitable. Jean kind of whimpered and backed behind Scott; Emma felt her insides retch with jealousy. Her body was racked by the entity enveloped in her, but she didn't cry, or call out; even in death Emma Frost was too proud for such things. A small whimper escaped her lips and she glanced at Scott to see if he had noticed, but nooo, he was too busy trying to comfort the remarkable not dying Jean. Blinking back a tear, she thought of a poem perfect for this;
As wind sweeps through this hollow chasm,
And life is swept from loved ones hands,
You try your best to hold on to them,
But the eternal grip of death now has them.
She began to shift out of her diamond form to use telekinesis on the creature inside; but doing so caused her skin to crack and start to shatter. Maybe in the severity of the situation she realized how many she wouldn't get to say goodbye to, no Emma hated goodbyes, more like argue one last time; and what about all the things that she'd never said, now no one will know those things; the things she hadn't bother to put down on paper, or the things she had cursed herself for missing the moment and not saying. That left her with one question, why now, why her. Wait that was two questions, her brain felt muddled like some-one was stirring it with a ladle. Feeling the end coming she held her head high, and proud…. And died. With dignity even in death.
ok, so this was not the document I'd hoped to upload but I'll put it on anyway. It has not been spell checked or anything and this is the first draft. Also, keep in mind It was 4;30 night and I hadn't slept in a few days when this was written. (it is still a tribute)