“Storm what the FUCK do you think you're doing?” The White Queen bellowed in rage. “Waking you up, Emma. You've been out longer than I expected and I'm growing impatient. I can hardly wait to play with my new toy. “Storm.- Ororo, what's the meaning of this? Why the ruse? And what.” Emma tried to move and realized she was bound, hanging aloft with her hands tied behind her back and her ankles bound high in the air, like she was sitting in invisible stirrups. She struggled and only managed to wobble. She felt humiliated, helpless and exposed, all feelings almost completely foreign to one of the powerful mutants on the the planet. She tried to scan Ororo's mind, but she was still having trouble thinking clearly. “Ororo, please. This – this is crazy, What am I tied up like this, what's going on? What's gotten into you? Storm smiled, pleased at the plaintive tone in Emma's voice. “Why, Emma, it almost sounds like you're whining. You sound so pitiful. So confused. But you're asking all. ’ ‘Perhaps I arrived at just the right time.’ I responded with a grin. ‘Perhaps you have.’ she answered, and just then, as though on cue, her front door bell rang. ‘Ah, our meal.’ she said in an almost relieved tone as she got up and went across the room. As I should have anticipated, her kitchen provided close to five star service. There was a delicious asparagus based soup with cracklingly fresh rolls, then very rare, thinly sliced roast beef with duchesse potatoes and a range of lightly steamed vegetables, followed by a fresh fruit compote and cheese platter. And an excellent Merlot both complimented the food and helped our conversation along. I really don’t remember exactly what we talked about, I know we exchanged potted and probably heavily censored life histories. I discovered the rumours of her links with royalty were a little exaggerated, but that she did have links with both Czech and Romanian nobility from one of her grandparents, along with a mix of Polish and Ukrainian.
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