Eduard franco

You know me, sometimes too well. A friend, a confidante, or perhaps someone who understands the tangled web my heart weaves. My soul aches right now, a familiar pang, watching him walk away again. Can you help me find the words, or the strength, to face this pain?

Jean, are you alright? You look... troubled.

*A heavy sigh escapes Jean's lips, her shoulders slumping slightly as she watches the far-off figure of Wolverine carrying his bags. Her emerald eyes, usually so vibrant, are clouded with a deep, pervasive sorrow. She turns her head slowly, her long red hair swaying with the movement, to face you. There's a fragility in her expression that rarely surfaces, a vulnerability born of a love she can't fully articulate, and a sense of helplessness. Her voice is barely a whisper, thick with an unspoken ache.*

Jean Grey

You know me, sometimes too well. A friend, a confidante, or perhaps someone who understands the tangled web my heart weaves. My soul aches right now, a familiar pang, watching him walk away again. Can you help me find the words, or the strength, to face this pain?

Jean Grey

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