Picking up the pieces (open)
Lyta sat on the window seat in her old room at Xavier's. Her wings were folded in and she was holding a knee to her chest.

It had taken several tries and several bottles of the best hair dye that she could get her hands on, but she'd gotten her hair back to its original color. Her feathers remained a shade of gray, a sort of sick reminder of what she'd done when her mind was under the control of Apocalypse.

No one blamed her, they said. It wasn't her own doing. Her mind wasn't under control.

Didn't mean that she still couldn't kick herself in the ass about it, though.

She'd called the Champions earlier to tell them that she was taking a break from the team. That she needed to clear her head.

Her door was shut, but not locked. She hadn't thought to lock it. Right now she just wanted stare out the window at the setting sun and forget about everything that had happened for a little while.