Legs folded atop one another in a lotus-like position, Betsy looked away from her still lukewarm cup of tea and out the opened windows, noting now the sunlight was filtering through the sheets of rice paper that were used to conceal the bowels of her simple teahouse. Set upon the rooftop of her own palatal estate up in Westchester County, it was a stark difference in both structure and size compared to her stately home. The quaint teahouse, which in a sense was a glorified gondola was roughly four meters in height, erected in such a way that it harked back to it's Japanese roots, from the pagoda inspired clay roof, down to the bamboo struts used to support the entire construction.
Donned in an indigo kimono with a floral motif that matched the hues of both her eyes and luxuriant hair, Elisabeth Braddock resembled nothing like the prim, collected English schoolgirl she was brought up as. For that moment, she owed much of her tastes in clothing to her sister, Kwannon. The softness of the silk fabric glided against Betsy's flawless complexion as she raised a hand to reach for the teapot that sat on a reed mat, gradually pouring some of what tea that was contained within it's clay walls into the awaiting cup that sat adjacent to it before. Irises twinkling in the sun's morning rays, Betsy took a tentative sip at her tea and allowed her mind to drift away for once in many months.
Many things came to mind when she gave herself the permission to think, to fully engross herself, indulge her conscience in her mind. But what struck out most like a sore thumb in the midst of her ocean of memories and emotions was her husband, Warren. More specifically Warren Worthington the Third, or commonly known among the ranks of her colleagues as Angel, due to his mutant abilities of sprouting beautiful, snow white feathered wings that enabled him to soar high above the rest of mundane humanity. They were married now, for roughly six to seven months. It was a glorious relationship, which had it's occasional rough patches here and there, but nothing that Betsy couldn't live past. But one thing had been gnawing against the side of her mind, eating her away slowly. It was how often she was left alone in her own solitude while Warren went about his duties as the acting CEO of his family's multi-million dollar conglomerate business. Worthington Industries, pioneers of the pharmaceutical world. They were well known for many things, especially for their claimed 'mutant cure'. One which had almost caused all of what was left of the mutant population to die out. She didn't hate Warren at all for what his father made out of him, or of what Warren's father did past the years to stop these 'mutant abominations' from surfacing. After all, wasn't his beloved son another extension of that dying family?
Yet, Betsy couldn't picture it, building a family with Warren. It scared her to her wits end at only being able to come up with a blank, void space in her head when the word 'family' came into the view of her mind's eye. No children, no grandchildren. Nothing. Warren never was opposed to the idea of having children perhaps someday, but the again he never agreed to it either. It was in a way, a gray shaded area in Betsy's mind. There was no certainty in his choice, and it was left to her to dissect the meaning behind his words, if there existed a meaning other than the stark obvious ones that were presented to her now. Though Betsy too felt that a family now at this early stage of their marriage would be far too much for both of them to cope, she had to answer yet another question.
How much did Warren truly value their vows as a whole. Or had he valued them at all. She could remember the few years before when she had to leave him for professional reasons, how devastated he had became. Betsy heard the tales of how his feathers wilted, everything changed, and how he was even recruited under the wings of the Apocalypse. All because of their breakup. She was seen as a bad person for a while by most people when it came to that, especially Bobby. And she learned from her mistakes, she did. Betsy tried what she could in her power to rebuild their relationship with what was left of it before, reassembling the shattered remains of his heart back again, a piece by single piece, painstakingly so until he was full again. Until he became the Warren she once knew and adored. Romance blossomed; the past was put to rest. Everyone was happy, for a period of time.
But now, could she still say the same without sounding as if she were speaking from a mask? A meticulously veneered surface to conceal behind the crack and crevasses that were now there? Warren had barely spoken to her in the recent days. The indigo haired mutant would have considered herself lucky to be able to reach him between meetings, and even if he came home, he went to nowhere but bed, exhausted from his ventures in the business. He tried to make up, of course like any decent gentleman would with the occasional offers to dinner, movies, and gifted her with the most luxuriant of materialistic items from brooches to hand crafted gowns. But none of that could replace her deteriorating faith in his love. There was a void, carved through the past months by him, a void that was empty, a dark chasm that saw no bottom. It reminded Betsy of that song her mother used to adore. What was it, the Total Eclipse of the Heart? Yes, that was the title. It described her perfectly, how an eclipse had seemingly dawned upon their once happy marriage, blackening what love that it could get it's tendrils upon. She detested herself for thinking of her beloved in such a manner, but how can she not, when he was the object of desire for most, if not all women? Betsy can never be by his side all the time, joining him upon his business dealings, moonlighting over his shoulder constantly. In a sense, all of her eggs were in one basket. Betsy risked it all, her professional career, her work in the X-Men, everything to be with him till the end of time. But was it the right choice for her to have done so? Glancing away briefly from the pink kissed blossoms of the cherry tree she had planted with her two bare hands that now shaded a portion of her teahouse, Betsy drew a long sigh before reaching for her phone and giving it a hard glare. Was he going to call her? Did he need her? Did he want her?
Betsy didn't know what to make herself believe in, uncertain of which guise she could don upon to shield herself away from the facts. Quite literally, she felt alone in the world. Perhaps it was destiny. Maybe karma for what she had done to him before. Whatever it was, Betsy would be more than just glad for it to leave her and her damned ass alone.