Trigger warning in summary. Please, if your easily upset by this, don't read it. Be good to yourself.
The darkness envelops me. My soul. It is a never ending storm of hell that I have no chance of weathering. Yet, somehow, I do. On this mortal world, in the bed of one Anthony Edward Stark and Steven Grant Rogers. I lay back on soft pillows. The two Avengers have awoken and left to go consume the regular Saturday breakfast of eggs and pancakes. Midgardian food. I've grown to like it, although some days I did crave a roast boar or quail eggs. It was rare I woke feeling like this once again. I try to remember that I had two loving husbands that adored me, as Steve suggested. But the weight on my chest wore on me, the little voice that told me I was nothing continually telling me I was nothing. That I was a monster. Unable to stand myself, I push my self off of the bed and headed to the bathroom. I rinsed my face off, two day old stubble making it feel rough. My lanky raven black hair fell in my face, covering one emerald eye. I glance at myself, before ripping my eyes away. I am unable to look at my self with out seeing the monster. With a sickening sense of curiosity, I fade my glamor and reveal my marked blue skin. It is heavily overlayed with scars both thick and thin. I trace over them with a slim finger. I hate the scars. They remind me of just how weak I am. The tears are falling with an ease that I have missed. This hate is a familiar feeling, comforting in a twisted way. It took no thought to bask in the burning destruction of my essence. That's it, I decide. This is the last time I shall have to handle this. I grab a small but very sharp razor blade I have hidden very carefully from prying eyes. And, of course, a bottle of Anthony's no longer used liquor. For the hell of it, I take some of the pills he thought he had hidden as well before slipping off to the weapons room to retrieve a gun. I look at the cold metal chunk with distaste. It has no elegance, no grace. A blade is such a beautiful tool, offers a certain aura this gun does not posses. It does, however, offer a quick death, which is my point at the moment. I take it as well and cock it curiously. Oh well, I shouldn't use it now. I focus on my magic and appear on the roof. The bright light hits me, but I ignore the oncoming headache, instead going to sit in the middle of the roof and spread the objects I've collected around me. The pills first, I decide, popping open the cap and downing about 20 of them, followed by a healthy swig of alcohol. I continue to drink long after the pills are gone, stopping to see that the bottle was now half empty. For some reason it was stunningly hilarious. I threw my head back and laughed. I would've kept laughing but my fingers were starting to feel like lead, so I quickly pick up the blade and run it lightly over one wrist in a mocking manner before digging in, relishing the deep sting. I follow suit with the other wrist, but for some reason its harder, like my fingers didn't want to work, so I cheat and use a little magic. That makes me giggle too. Now for the grand finale. I sigh and pick up the gun. I think I hear Jarvis in the back ground, but my ears feel like they're stuffed with cotton, so I ignore it. I raise the gun to my head using magic, clicking off the safety and taking a deep breath. There are dark tinges on the end of my vision, something in me is slipping away. I decide on a count to make it easier. I close my eyes and count. One... Two... Three...
Something tackles me and I feel the gun go off. Someone wrestles it out of my magic's grasp and then there's screaming. The world fades slowly and I can't see. Steve and Tony's voices wash over me and I'm hit with a sense of guilt until I realize that they'll be so much better without me. Finally, I can't feel anything, and I'm glad. Hell awaits.
So, anyone up for a Part two? Or should I leave it as is? As always R and R.