The Lonely

The bedroom was dark. The house, silent. Her knees were pulled in tight to her chest. Her blonde hair fell in every direction. It had been at least a year, if not more. Yet the wounds were still fresh. The damp sports bra was a reminder. She was trying to outrun the pain. Outrun something that was in her mind. Something she knew was gone. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The tears streamed down her cheeks as they did every night. During the day she was able to keep some semblance of composure, but it was at night, when she was alone, that she lost it. The memories came flooding back as she lay in her bed, wishing for the sleep that would never come. She hadn't slept since that day long, long ago. The only reason she was alive was her magic. And it was slowly dissipating. She buried her head in her knees as she was forced down memory lane.

"Find the little bitch!" she remembered him saying. The little bitch was her. She was only 11, he appeared to be 21. She ran and ran, clutching the golden ring close to her body. The bullets ricocheted on either side of her, but never hitting her, maybe on purpose, maybe the redhead with the gun just had terrible aim. Either way, she needed to get away, so she did. She teleported herself to Russia, where she was born. As she slipped the ring onto her finger, it shrunk to fit her petite hand. A surge of power rushed through her; it felt like being tazed, throwing her to the ground. Over and over she felt that same surge, pushing her closer to death, then the sensation of being stabbed in the abdomen. Her tiny heart was giving up when a bright gold light appeared in front of her. The same redhead and the dark haired man were standing above her. He crouched down and reached for her hand. "Just give it back and it'll be alright." He said with a devious smirk.

"No." She spat in his face, pulling her hand from his reach. He inched closer but she unleashed a string of Russian curses and teleported herself away with his ring, hiding it in the depths of limbo for years.

"You should have just given it back to him, Illyana." She whispered to herself shakily. "You'd be perfectly happy now. This wouldn't be happen-" she cut herself off with a violent cough, a side effect of the magic.

There was a soft knock on the door downstairs, but she purposely ignored it. The people who come around and knock on doors at 2 am never want anything good. She felt her heart beat slowly; trying to lull her mind into sleep, but sleep wouldn't1 come. "There's no rest for the wicked," she said solemnly. The soft blankets wrapped themselves around her body, warming her icy cold skin. The fire in her heart was almost out. The blood in her veins was close to stopping. She let go of her mental barriers, letting the memories, good and bad, come back. Letting the hidden memories remind her of the times in her life when she was feeling both of the two extremes.

"Good morning, my love." He whispered softly as he kissed her cheek. Her eyes hadn't even opened and the day was already amazing. She rolled onto her side and curled up into a ball.

"Five more minutes." She groaned sleepily, but he was intent on getting her up. His nimble fingers found her sensitive spots and tickled her until she was crying from laughter.

"Beg for mercy, love, and I will stop." He said with a devious smirk, his fingers threatening to continue tickling her.

"I never beg." She said adamantly, while nimbly moving off the bed. He got up and wrapped his strong arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her around, their combined laughter echoed the apartment. After a minute or two he put her down, grinning from ear to ear. His arms now found their way around her waist and pulled her close. Slowly, she put her arms around his neck. "What are we doing today?" she asked softly, the hint of a yawn rumbled in her throat.

"Get dressed and you'll see." He said with a smile. She eyed him curiously, but obliged. A red shirt, and blue jean shorts were the first things she found, along with black flats. She put her long blonde hair up into a neat ponytail, and then brushed her teeth. She walked back to him to see he was dressed as well, his hand extended for her. Gladly, she took it and interlocked their fingers.

"Where are we going?" She asked as he pulled her out the door and into the park. She started to ask more questions but he continued to pull her deeper and deeper into the park. Soon her curiosity died down and she just reveled in the sun on her skin. The trees around her, the people enjoying their day, his hand joined with hers. This day was perfect, and she had only been up for twenty minutes. One street performer had a guitar and was singing I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz. He stopped walking and smiled at her. She wrapped her arms back around his neck and looked into his eyes, smiling. He unwrapped her arms from his neck, warranting a strange look from her. Taking a step back he lowered himself down onto one knee. The tiniest of gasps escaped her lips. He smiled genuinely and took her hand in his. He made a very simple gold and emerald ring appear in his hand as he smiled.

"Illyana Rasputina, you taught me how to love again. Would you make me the happiest man in all the nine realms and marry me?" Tears welled in her eyes while she nodded. Trying to get the words out.

"Yes." She finally said, he let out a tiny sigh in relief, almost too small for her to notice, but she did. As he slipped the ring onto her finger, she pulled him up and kissed him softly. "Did you think I was going to say no?" She asked softly.

"I know you have other commitments in life and I would have understood if this one was too much." She couldn't help but laugh slightly.

"Do you think I could ever say no to you?" Her head was resting on his chest, his hands wrapped protectively around her. He yielded with a hearty laugh.

"I guess not, my dear. I am happier then you could imagine." She smiled and listened to his heartbeat.

The knocking was incessant. She groaned and buried her head in the pillows. Wiping the happy memory from her mind. The room grew colder and she curled closer into herself, trying to keep the sickness at bay, she knew she wouldn't last to see the sun rise. She had been getting sicker and sicker. Any attempt of using magic, at all, just made her sicker. She knew only one person who could help her, but he was long gone.

She hadn't meant to scare him, only to tell him she recognized his immense power. But now he had her on the ground, on her back, his foot was on her chest, slowly pressing the air out of her lungs. She tried to use her magic to teleport earlier, but he had just brought her right back. She cursed in Russian and tried to breathe, but nothing happened, he was slowly killing her. She closed her eyes and focused on making her sword appear, the was the one part of her powers that she still hadn't mastered, making the sword made out of her soul, appear when she wanted it. Suddenly she felt the surge of power in her right hand. The sword's grip appeared in her hand and the blade shot out, crackling and sparking with the power of a trapped live soul. Almost immediately he moved his foot from her chest and extended his hand to her. She took it, holding the sword in her other hand, he pulled her up until she was upright, the top of her head coming to the middle of his chest. He looked up and down her still petite form.

"Who are you?" He asked even though he already knew. Telepathy via magic was being exchanged, going unnoticed by both of them on the receiving end.

"Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina." She said, her Russian accent peeking through when she pronounced her middle name. "And who would you be?" She asked, hesitantly making her sword disappear, she didn't need to be deprived of oxygen again.

"Doctor Strange, the mightiest magician in all the cosmos." He said while taking her hand and kissing it softly. "A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Rasputina." He said, noting the small gold ring around her finger.

"Oh," she said with a crimson blush, "I'm not married." She hastily took the ring off her finger and made a black chord appear, she knotted the ring on the chord then slipped it over her hair, the ring fell to the neckline of her shirt.

"A beautiful woman, like you, not married yet?" He asked, even though his telepathy had told him all of this already.

"Unfortunately I'm not." She said jokingly. She hadn't really cared for marriage, she hadn't found the right person, and starting a family was something she was greatly against. He picked up these vibes from her and nodded.

"I'm sorry, I just assumed." He said gently letting go of her hand. She felt a surge of power and a nearby street sign erupted into flames. Cursing under her breath in Russian, she tried to put out the fire. He looked at her curiously. "You haven't mastered your powers yet?"

"Yes- I mean no- wait yes." She groaned. He used his magic and put out the fire. "Thank you." She said softly, blushing even redder as her embarrassment grew. He smiled; quite amused that she was getting so flustered and embarrassed around him. He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

"Until we meet again Ms. Rasputina." He said before he teleported away, leaving her standing on a small town street, shocked and dazed.

"You died and left me alone." She said angrily to someone who wasn't there. The knocking had ceased but she could still hear the pounding in her head; 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. Over and over, refusing to cease. The pain echoed throughout her entire body, amplifying the sobs that had exhausted her tears. Yet, with so much pain, she couldn't stop them from tapping into her magic to replenish her body's supply of tears. She felt her power slip out of her body as each tear formed and fell down her cheek.

The entrance to the tunnel was her only way out, her blood boiled in her veins. Her feet ached from all the running, but she had to keep going. Belasco was sure to notice she was gone. He would send the demons after her. The torture she had endured was enough to make grown men beg for mercy, but the sorcery he had imbued into her bones kept her alive. For thirteen-year-old girl she was gravely underweight, affecting her height, but not affecting her strength. It was odd, but she didn't complain. The tunnel twisted and turned. Rocks jutted up from the ground.

"ILLYANA!" A demonic voice roared out from behind her. It started her so much that she tripped over a rock and went tumbling, falling off a cliff, barely grabbing on to the ledge. The fire underneath licked at her ankles; she scraped at the ground trying to climb further up. The ground shook, loosening her grip on the scalding hot rock. "How dare you?!" He screamed as he came into view. Horns sprouted out from his red skin. For some reason he reminded her of Azazel. The man used to be human, that much she was sure of, his body wasn't formed like the other demon-lords she had seen in the history books buried deep within the castle at the heart of the dimension. Belasco gave her relative freedom nowadays. But the memories of the torture were ingrained so deeply into her mind that she couldn't even begin to forgive him. He reached his hand out to grab hers and pull her up away from certain death, but instead she prayed that maybe for once her magic once as she let go of the cliff and fell down towards the abyss. Belasco kept his eyes on the Russian prodigy that was speeding towards the fiery pit. He would have helped her, but on one of her good days she locked him out with her magic. He was completely helpless. All at once she disappeared just before reaching the flames.

The unfamiliar sounds of horns honked at her as she sat in the middle of the intersection. People yelled out their car windows at her as she looked around. The language was so familiar, yet she hadn't heard it in years, not since Belasco ripped her away from her family after they had just escaped Saint Petersburg, or Petograd as they were forced to call it, as the Romanov's declared war on her family. Dazed and delirious she stood up, wary of her feet and walked down the closest street. As the cars moved out of the way, a familiar sight came upon her and she fell to her knees. Before her stood the Winter Palace, home to the Tsar and his family.