"Now, what drives Othello to do the deed, and murder his faithful Desdemona? Is it truly jealousy, as our friend Shakespeare would have us believe initially?" Charles Xavier paused, blue orbs scanning the circular classroom. Rotating his wheelchair with his free hand, he cleared his throat softly, his other hand still clutching his worn copy of Othello. "I think this is an important question to examine, so I will elaborate" he reiterated, glancing briefly at his spot on the page and clearing his throat. "Let us consider this question differently. What drives Othello, our 'honorable murderer?'"
"Desdemona."
The answer came from behind Charles, and he felt an imperceptible shiver run down his spine. He did not have to turn around to know who answered his question but he did anyway, his face composed. Blue met green, and Charles repressed the second shiver that threatened to expose the tension that coiled in his stomach. Jean's eyes were piercing, but in ways that no other student could be. Not even Mister Summers, with his optic blasts, could match the intensity of his girlfriend's. It was what was hidden behind those green eyes that stirred an emotion that Charles was unfamiliar with: uneasiness. A moment of silence passed, save for the rustle of papers and uninterested coughs. Charles swallowed, unable to pull himself from those green orbs. "An interesting answer, Miss Grey. I am intrigued. I was thinking of something more abstract, instead of a character, but I am open to this interpretation. Would you care to continue down this path and explain further?"
Jean blinked, looking down at her note to compose herself. Charles gripped the arm of his wheelchair tightly, letting out the smallest of exhales. He had not noticed it when it was present, but he was now acutely aware of the lack of pressure that had just previously pressed down on him on all sides—all planes of existence. Jean looked up again, her answer on the tip of her tongue, and he braced himself. He'd expected it this time, and it was as if his awareness flipped a switch. Nothing. There was nothing pressing down on all of him, prying for entry.
"… his love for Desdemona that drives him."
Charles paused, gathering his thoughts. He could not shake this feeling of uneasiness that clung to him now and he knew that long after the class ended, he would remain mulling over what he had just felt. For the time being, however, he smiled and gave a small nod of approval. "I enjoy your reading of Desdemona, Miss Grey. It is very perceptive of you. I, myself, would have leaned towards a reading of justice as the driving force, but that seems quite inferior now that you have presented your points. Desdemona and her love for Othello—and his for her, certainly drive the plot."
Pencils scratched across paper, and Charles waited for notes to be taken. "Do you think she is doomed, Jean?" he asked softly. "Is she doomed because of what lurks inside her, this passion? Her love for the Moor is dangerous, and one could argue her fate is sealed from the very beginning."
Jean remained quiet, her brow furrowed. Biting her bottom lip, she mulled over the Professor's words. Giving an uneasy chuckle, she glanced down at her notes for salvation. "I didn't think it through." she answered nervously. "Sorry."
"Do not apologize; I am very pleased with what you have said thus far. You have given me much to think about, and much for your classmates to. Let us that be the driving question today, to be answered next class: is Desdemona's fate tied to Othello's? Will she die for something she cannot control, she should not have to control: her love for her husband? I will always be available for questions during my office hours. Hopefully with answers."
A low murmur of laughter ran through the class, and Jubilation Lee was already making her way through the small throng to get to Charles. As he fielded her enthusiastic question, Charles could not help but glance over her shoulder, watching that fiery mane move to the exit. "Scott," he could hear her exclaim in exasperation as Scott Summers moved in to carry her books. As his gaze fell on the back of her head, Jean turned briefly, and her eyes met Charles' once more. A blazing streak of pressure, too fast to be pain, laced through Charles' conscious and he clenched his eyes, gritting his teeth. It was gone as fast as it had come.
"No, Miss Lee. I am fine. It has just been an off day for me. Do tell me what you have been thinking."