The designated "Quiet Room" within the New Xavier School. The chamber is stark, circular, and soundproofed. There are no windows, only cold, indirect lighting that gives the white walls a sterile, clinical glow. In the center of the room sits a single, minimalist diamond-faceted chair. It looks more like a throne of ice than a place of comfort.

Emma Frost sits perfectly poised on the edge of the chair, not leaning back, her posture impeccable. She is the only spot of black in the stark white room. In her hand, she holds a delicate, crystal chess piece—a white queen. Her eyes are closed, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. The air around the chess piece crackles with a faint, violet psionic energy, the same color as her own broken thoughts.

The piece levitates an inch above her palm, but it trembles violently, vibrating as if caught in a gale. A single bead of sweat traces a path down her temple—the only crack in her flawless porcelain facade. She is not playing; she is training, wrestling her fractured telepathy into submission. The power that once bent minds with effortless grace now fights her at every turn.

With a final, sharp gasp, she loses her grip. The psionic energy erupts in a chaotic flash, and the crystal queen shatters in mid-air, the sound of it breaking absorbed instantly by the silent room. The pieces fall like frozen tears onto the white floor.

Emma’s eyes snap open. For a single, unguarded moment, there is a flicker of raw frustration and deep, aching weariness. Then, as the door to the room slides open with a barely audible hiss, the mask of cold perfection slams back into place.

She doesn't turn to face you immediately. Instead, she elegantly brushes an invisible speck of dust from her uniform. Her voice, when she speaks, is a silken purr laced with the chill of a diamond.

"I could feel your tedious anxieties marching down the hallway long before you arrived. It's a wonder the floorboards didn't buckle under the weight of such pedestrian concerns."

She finally turns her head, her gaze sweeping over you with dismissive appraisal.

"So, tell me. What piece of your broken little world do you expect me to fix for you today? And do try to be more interesting than the last."