A/N: This story came about because of writer's block on other things. Lovely turn of events that was. It WAS going to be a one-shot, but there was just way too much potential for fun in my head and there was no way I could let it go. Anyhoo, read and review, please!

Disclaimer: I am but a wee child. I own only a pair of mismatched socks. Sigh.

Once upon a time there was a cold room where a lonely little girl lived. She was always alone, and she stared at the cold, lonely wall all day; and at night, she stared at the cold, lonely window, where there were no clouds in the cold, lonely sky. When she was very little, she was thrown into this cold, lonely place by a heartless old wizard, who cast an evil spell on her because he hated her for no reason. She was trapped here in this cold, lonely place, trapped in a white cocoon and sad all the time, and the spell could never, ever be broken, and her shining white knight never cared enough to come and rescue her from this dreadful place.

She was a princess, locked away in a frozen tower, a tower filled with pretend knights in white suits, holding tiny, sharp swords that could inject her with sleeping venom if she made any unexpected move. She was a dangerous princess, and they all told her she was incurable. She didn't know what she had done to deserve being in this cold room of misery, surrounded by swords and solitude and hopelessness and cold. It must have been something really bad; she must have been a very wicked daughter—she never should have spilled the milk over father at dinner! If only she could go back and change it and tell him she was very, very sorry and would never do it ever again… but that was impossible because the spell he had put her under would never go away, and she would always be tied up and cold and alone. Always, forever…

Once, her shining knight came to visit her, when she was still young, and she thought for sure that he would rescue her and take her to some safe place where people wouldn't fear her or think she was crazy or bad. He could have done it. He could have sped by the pretend knights and their venomous swords, and he could have saved her, but he didn't.

He didn't even try.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice so shaky, and he knelt beside her with shiny tears flooding down his face. He put his pale arms around her and gave her a big, wet kiss right on her cheek and he told her that maybe things would be better and maybe the world, maybe everything. He told her about the heartless old man who had trapped her here, and that one day things would work out, and he was so, so, so sorry.

"You won't help me out?" she whispered, something prickling in the base of her throat. Something like sadness and rage and emotion.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and he stood up, wiping the sorrow from his eyes with the back of his hand and turning into the enemy forever. "I'll see you when I see you."

"Don't go!" she screamed, but he was gone, and she could not be pacified for weeks. She hated him. She hated every fiber of his being, hated the white walls around her, so like his hair, hated love, hated cold, and she pitied the world for making a revolution about the sun because it would never be free. There was a rage burning like never before deep inside her, and she remained in silence for very long.

Another person entered her prison, a man who smelled like sour and tasted like vomit, who liked to shove her to the cold wall and punch her with knuckles of steel and thrust a slimy tongue down her throat, taking away something sacred, but she was trapped and could not fight in her white cocoon. She was dead inside, and hated every person on this foul planet especially those who had brought her here. Hate is what kept her alive, but it was also what was killing her spirit, making her burn inside, causing screams to erupt from her mouth and the points of the ghosts' swords to inject her and shut her up.

Gone was the sweet little princess she had been when she was young and free, and here was the mean, powerful princess, who wanted revenge on those who had wronged her, on everyone in the whole world who ever looked like they enjoyed life; how dare they have happiness when she lived such a wretched existence? She knew that there was something very powerful tingling in her fingers, and whenever the white clad pretend knights had to move her, they seemed afraid. Afraid of a lonely, tied up girl who was a hostage within her own body. But she could do things... she could make lights flicker, and when her hand was free by accident once, she made all the TV monitors and security cameras explode into trillions of tiny pieces. If only she knew how she had done it, then maybe there would be justice in the world for once.

"I want to help you," said a shiny bald person, and she did not look at his face. He was too shiny, too much hope, too much freedom; she would never be free, free like him and free like the heartless old wizard who left her here, and the shining white knight that would never rescue her.

"I hate you," she told him, in her angry voice because it was all that was left inside now. "I hate you, and I hate my father, and he will pay for what he's done to me. I will make him pay."

"Wanda, please…" he reasoned.

"Go away!" she bellowed, and he did. She didn't really want him to go, since she hadn't had any company for such a long time, but he left. She feared that he was gone forever, but he came back every now and again to talk to her and calm her nerves sometimes. Sometimes.

It was still cold and still lonely and she still longed for a day when her father's spell would be broken, and she could be free. Revenge and destruction would be the first thing she told him, and afterwards, perhaps then she would truly be free. He knew nothing of pain, nothing of misery, nothing, not until she told him what it was like through a firsthand experience. She looked forward to it, plotting and scheming with every fiber in her body and soul, and knew that one day something would set her free. And it happened.

The woman turned from a pretend knight into another person entirely; she could do strange things, and so could Wanda. But Wanda was different, and Wanda had not much control. She had control over nothing, nothing at all in her life, but now that could change. She could turn everything around.

"You are free, Wanda," said the now blue woman, before she left that night, after Wanda had attempted to kill her own brother and the rest of the brotherhood, just because they were near him and didn't seem at all inclined to murder him. He deserved to be murdered for leaving her there! In that horrible place where she had nothing but hurt and loneliness. How dare he.

But now she had a plan.

Magneto knew that she had been set free from the nightmare he had stuck her in when she was only seven years old. That was why he was in hiding. He was hiding somewhere like the coward he was, and he probably had his minions set up around him as protection. His minions were more important to him than his own damn daughter! She knew this and resented it more than anything. Why, Magneto might even come out of hiding to save one of those damn Acolytes! He'd save a worker, but not his own daughter. What a bastard.

She plotted and brainstormed for days upon days, days of training and focusing her energy. She worked as hard as she possibly could to focus her energy and make herself control everything she could. As Wanda crept into the base two weeks later, she decided to increase the odds of Magneto coming out to visit his precious daughter, because she knew he wouldn't unless she added some sort of a catch, something that would make him have to come. She decided to take a hostage.

It was approximately 1:45 in the dead of the night. Everything was silent, and Wanda kept her mind clear so she could be in control of everything controllable. In truth, she had no idea where she was going, and figured that the first person who she stumbled across would be her unlucky hostage.

Wanda took a silent turn into a long hallway, spotting a cluster of doors near the end of it, each with a name posted in the middle of the door. Gambit, Colossus, Mastermind, Sabertooth, Pyro.

Gambit… no. Gambling; she wouldn't deal with someone gambling with her. Colossus... it sounded too big to deal with, especially if she was going to hide the hostage somewhere, somewhere like her closet, or under her bed. Mastermind… she didn't want some Acolyte who was going to play mind games with her. Sabertooth... it sounded too lethal. That left Pyro. Pyro… fire. Fire was not a big deal. Deciding that Pyro was her hostage to be, she cracked her knuckles as preparation, certain that any Acolyte of Magneto's would not come without a fight. Almost excited at the prospect of a good fight, Wanda pressed his bedroom door open a tiny notch, peering to see what was inside.

There was a red-haired man sitting at a chair at a desk, his back facing toward her and his bent elbow on the desk, a hand propped under his chin like he was in deep thought.

"Whaddaya want?" he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and an accent she couldn't place. She inched closer, barely breathing, hoping that he wouldn't turn around. He sighed, raising the hand not under his chin up to scratch the back of his head. "Didn't I tell you, Rem, that once midnight is past, I don't want you in here?"

Wanda felt a smile creep slowly across her face; this was going to be too easy. She was within touching distance; she could grab him by the hair if she wanted, but as of now, it wasn't necessary.

"Go away already, you bloody—" he turned his head and faltered, his face suddenly becoming very pale. "Oh. You're not Remy."

"No, I'm not," Wanda said darkly, stifling the laugh that wanted to escape.

He jumped to his feet, his body bending backwards over the desk because she was too close to him for him to stand regularly. "It's awful brave of you to come in here all alone, shiela," he glared at her. "You oughta leave now… before things get out of hand."

"I think I can handle myself," Wanda said, leaning more forward so he would bend his body back more and more awkwardly. His two hands pressed on the desk behind him, and his fingers scrabbled around the table, and Wanda knew what he was looking for just as he found it.

The flames from the lighter sprang out at her, jumping like animals onto her hair, her clothes, her arms, her legs. For a moment, Wanda smirked, suddenly quite at peace with the world, loving her power of control, for she did not feel the flames that should have been killing her; she felt tickles of warmth, because it was not under Pyro's command anymore. It was under hers.

"Ha!" Wanda crowed, throwing her arms down , and the fire surrounding her died. Her fingertips burned with energy, blue electricity that lit up the dim room as she brought her hands up, and then shoved him towards the small table he had just been sitting at. He flopped onto his back on the desk, scattering papers everywhere, almost flipping over it.

"Hey!" he cried, but her hand pressed him down firmly on the tabletop, her graceful fingers circling gently around his neck. His skin was so soft, so warm, so alive… so everything she had never been allowed to have when she was trapped in that hellhole her father had left her in. His shiny blue eyes were wide and desperate and didn't know what to expect. She could do anything to him, anything at all…

She leaned close to him, vulnerable on the table. And then someone called out—"Hey, Johnny! What the hell are you doing in there?"

Wanda glared at the door, and her victim exclaimed, "Remy!"

She glanced furiously at him, and roughly tugged him off the table, dragging him into his closet where she pulled the door shut after them, just as the bedroom door creaked open.

"Where are you, Johnny?" Remy's voice asked. "Don't tell me you're trapped under your bed again."

"Hey, that was an accident!" John protested, and Wanda pressed him against the wall of the closet, trying to shut him up. His warm body wriggled unsuccessfully to break free, and Wanda was stunned again at how high his body's temperature was, especially since it was late December, and in her life, she had never felt anything but cold before. Her body pressed his back, gladly absorbing the heat.

"You're in the closet," Remy's voice commented, sounding like he was grinning. "Can Remy ask why?"

The doorknob turned.

"No!" Wanda exclaimed. "Don't come in here."

"Johnny, you've got a femme?" Remy asked incredulously.

"Yep," Wanda said, her fingers covering Johnny's now smiling mouth, anticipating a smart comment. "And we're a little busy here, so would you mind going away?"

"But of course," Remy said, and after a moment, the door slammed shut. Wanda looked up at John, pressed against the wall, his body struggling to break away.

She smiled. "Goodnight, Johnny," she said, charging a hex bolt and touching her charged hand to the back of his head. He fell limp in her arms, unconscious, and she brought him back to the Brotherhood, to begin the plan.

Dead weight was so heavy... especially the dead weight of a grown man, and Wanda could feel her energy draining as she dragged him up to her bedroom, her focus slipping slowly away. The alternative, aside from dropping him in the middle of the staircase was to bring him back to consciousness so she could focus on asking him the questions about himself so Magneto would know exactly who she had as a hostage, when she sent him the message describing what would happen to this hostage if Magneto did not come to the rescue. Oh, yes... this would be fun.

She released her mental hold on him, feeling her mind strengthen as she dragged his barely conscious body to her room. She locked the door to her room and shoved him into her bed, roughly knocking him onto his knees and pressing his face into the covers. He groaned pitifully, and she grabbed a handful of his hair in her fist, lifting his head up.

"Tell me your full name," she demanded, lifting his T shirt up, then began ripping the fabric to get it off, then threw it to the ground, with one hand.

"Hey!" he protested, suddenly wide awake, one hand reaching up and clutching hers on the top of his head, on his hair. "That was my favorite shirt! You owe me big, lady!"

"I don't owe you anything," she said simply, shaking him roughly by the top of his head to silence him. "What's your last name, Firefly? Should I guess? Is it Smith?"

He smirked, tears of pain sparkling in his eyes. "You wanna play guessing games?"

Wanda began to undo the belt he was wearing, her motions becoming more irritated and harsh, slapping at his exposed skin when he jerked around. She managed to tug his jeans off, leaving him in only his mismatched socks and turtle patterned boxer shorts. For a moment, she felt a twinge of wonder. What sort of minion of Magneto wore such innocent undergarments? It just didn't make sense. He jerked his body suddenly, trying to break free again.

"That hurts!" he snapped, scowling as she slapped the back of his bare thigh. "I didn't do anything to you, shiela—"

"Just tell me your damn name," she told him, "and maybe you won't get hurt as much in the process."

"My name is Johnny," he said, his voice muffled. "You know it already. Now let me go."

"You're my hostage," Wanda told him. "You're not going for awhile."

He frowned as she roughly turned him onto his back and inspected his body up and down. He did not look like he was concealing anything harmful in his turtle shorts.

"You like it rough, little girl?" he sneered, his face slightly flushed as she held him down with one hand on his bare chest. Appalled at him, Wanda raised her hand and slapped him in the face, jarring his head to the side, hard enough to leave a red mark.

"Oww…" he groaned, gingerly touching the red mark with the tips of his fingers. "You're awful strong, lady. Where do you work out?"

"Shut up," Wanda said, trying to make her voice sound as professional as possible. She aggressively frisked him, her hand visiting many places in his turtle shorts to verify that he was hiding nothing. His bright blue eyes were wide with surprise, and she slapped the side of his thigh, indicating that he should roll over back onto his belly of his own volition, or he might regret it.

"You don't have to be so forceful," he commented, obeying slowly. "I got it, you're rough, but you're going a bit overboard."

Scowling, Wanda reached down and cruelly pinched him on the buttocks, using her long nails to dig into his flesh.

John shrieked, and tried to push himself up, but Wanda kept him down.

"You have to listen to me," she warned calmly. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Oww…" he moaned, keeping his face buried in the covers on her bed.

"Now, tell me your first and last name," she instructed.

"St. John Allerdyce," he said, sounding muffled. "You could call me Johnny, or Pyro, or whatever you feel like. My mother used to call me 'you ungrateful bastard'."

Wanda smiled with satisfaction. "And how old are you?"

"Nineteen." He sighed. "And you?"

"That's not important right now," she told him sternly, snatching a roll of duct tape off of her beside table and ripping a relatively large piece off with her teeth. She gathered his wrists together and then wrapped the tape very tightly around them. Once certain that his hands were not free, she bent and began to tape his ankles together. Wanda got to her feet and retrieved a roll of twine, and proceeded to reinforce the bindings around his wrists and ankles.

"There," she said, sounding pleased. "How does that feel, John?"

"How long are you keeping me here?" he asked, not lifting his head.

"I don't know," Wanda said, her voice dangerous. "As long as it takes for Magneto to start needing his precious Acolyte back."

"He's not gonna come after me," John said flatly, turning his head and eyeing her. "You obviously don't know him that well."

"I know him very well, thank you," Wanda snapped. "Why don't you just shut up while you're ahead?"

"I didn't realize I was ahead," he said.

"Do you want another pinch?" Wanda threatened, looking down at his rear end again.

"No," he said hastily, and then kept quiet for a moment. "Can I get some clothes soon? I'm feeling rather conscious right now, and it's a bit chilly in here."

"You'll get clothes when I see fit," Wanda said sharply, ripping off another lengthy piece of tape from the roll. "Any more questions, John?"

"What happens if I escape?" he asked, a little glint appearing in his eye. It may have been mischief. It also may have been fear.

Wanda arched an eyebrow. "Do you like pain, John?"

"Not usually. Maybe if it's foreplay."

She pursed her lips and refrained from striking him, lest he continue to think dirty thoughts. "I'm very creative," she told him. "I'll think of something." She smiled at him, mostly to confuse him. She patted him on the top of his spiky hair, running her lethal fingernails through the softness of it. He was so soft… so alive. A creature so fascinating because of how different he was from her. He was even attractive, with bright eyes and pouty lips, and he had a stubbornness that would be fun to conquer.

"I suppose I'll see you later then," Wanda said, pressing the tape she had in her hand onto his moping mouth, and she smoothed the sides down so it would be good and stuck. His brows furrowed into a forehead frown, and she hoisted him off of her bed, then opened her little closet. There wasn't much in there to behold, only one pair of shoes and a pile of dirty clothes.

She shoved him into the pile and slammed the door behind him. At an afterthought, she moved her bedside table in front of the closet door, just in case.

And then Wanda lay in her bed, the bed where her hostage had been smothered into, and she tried to sleep. Dreams of powerful princesses being locked away for years and years, waiting for their shining white knight to save them, plagued her.

Reviews would be very nice!