Disclaimer: Henry 'Hank' McCoy, Marius and Monet yaddayaddayadda St. Croix are Marvel's. This pretty little story is mine.

From the Dais with the Closed Coffin

"These last two years, I have loved more seriously than I have ever known. I have cared about Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese St. Croix-McCoy more deeply than I could ever express. I thought I would protect her from all evils. I did not doubt that my courage against her enemies would last. But the brevity of my bravery was such that I could not save her.

"They call us heroes, we who uphold the star-spangled banner's promise of freedom and justice. They do not realise that it is not heroism, nor our inherent courage that keeps us protecting this country that hates and fears us. It is a force of habit, bred into all of us that came to this school as mere children, engraved onto our very hearts as we grew into adults. Habit is a strong force, one which can overcome sorrow, disgust, anger and emptiness, the only force that can keep me living, now that she is murdered. But it could not overcome fear.

"I have never felt terror like that which came upon me as I saw her killer appear in the herb garden. She was walking, I watching her perfect silhouette against the soft summer moon. As I stood, as if petrified, I saw him reach towards her with his clawed fingers and rench out her heart from behind. She had no preparation for her death. She had not the time to fight him. She only turned towards me. Her brown eyes let stream salty waterfalls, drenching the ground before her as her own red blood soaked the ground behind. We had thought her safe here, secure against her brother's violent hatred, invulnerable from attack. We were wrong. The only man who could pierce her inpenetrable skin was the only man for whom the desire was real. We underestimated him. I had never been afraid, never felt true fear, before that night. I was -- I am helpless. We cannot avenge her, even if that was our way. Marius alone can access the dark dimension which is his home, and with her dead, needs no longer to come into the light for food.

"I am sorry, my friends. This is not the eloquent and well-structured speech you were expecting from your residant encomiast. I will not excuse myself, only explain. I found Monet to be ineffable. Her wonders were indescribable, her virtues innumerable and her intellect unfathomable. She was superlative, sublime and superb in more ways than I could ever explain, with all my bombast. Ladies and gentlemen, friends, family of the deceased, over all of this, there is but one thought I have about my wife that can make her death less shattering. She was loved."

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