She struggled beneath the satin sheet, vainly attempting to find a cool spot on her pillow or mattress. Unfortunately, her body heat had permeated every place of even relative coolness as she tossed and turned. She could feel the sweat marching down her back and chest in beads, and her white silk nightgown clung to her body wetly and uncomfortably.

Turning onto her side and reading her digital bedside clock, which told her that it was one o'clock in the morning and she had only gotten two hours of sleep, Ororo Munroe sighed and tossed the single sheet covering her away. Before retiring for the night, she had tried to summon a breeze to blow through her room and keep her cool, and it had worked for a short while. Not only did it keep her from sweating, but the motion and sound of it had also lulled her into slumber. The problem with the breeze was that she couldn't focus on keeping it up while in an unconscious state, and it had soon died, leaving her to awaken sticky and sleek with perspiration.

She rose from her bed, silently cursing circumstances beyond her control. She cursed the summer heat, air conditioning systems that broke down and left the entire mansion feeling like a furnace, repair companies that stalled in sending people out to fix said broken air conditioning systems, and students who whined about the heat and made her exhaust all of her energy in keeping a constant breeze blowing through the open windows so that nobody would pass out. Never mind the fact that she herself had almost lost consciousness a day ago after running on three hours of sleep the previous night and maintaining a steady breeze for four. That was when Logan had demanded that she stop trying to be everyone's personal fan and get some sleep.

"Easier said than done, Logan," she sighed, resolving to go down to the kitchen and get a cup of ice water, "Easier said than done."

Because Ororo expected that several of the students or other teachers might have the same idea as she, or that she might find them running up the electric bill by sitting in front of the open refrigerators, she slipped a long white, terry-cloth robe over her slightly revealing nightgown, turned on her overhead light, and checked her full-length mirror to make sure that her short, platinum hair wasn't too rumpled. As she walked down the hallway towards the stairs, she smiled as she thought of the spectacle she might have made if she hadn't taken these precautions. Prim, polished Headmistress Munroe in a white silk nightie with a plunging neckline and hair as tussled as the Wolverine's on a bad day.

Upon approaching the kitchen, she was glad when her ears were met with absolute silence, and she quietly calmly and quietly rejoiced when she found the room empty. Not only was she not exactly keen on the idea of students or fellow instructors seeing her in such a state of undress, but she also didn't want to be greeted with and have to make up answers for questions about when the air conditioning was going to be fixed. "Never!" the sleep-deprived and irritated headmistress had been tempted to yell at a group of girls who approached her about the matter yesterday.

After getting a glass from one of the cabinets and crossing to the fridge, she pressed the button on the door for crushed ice, and, to her ears, the sound of the tiny chunks of ice hitting the glass was goddess-sent. Once she got her water, she sat down on one of the barstools at the island in the middle of the kitchen, drinking and listening to the small night-sounds made by the mansion that Charles Xavier had built for his students.

"Charles…" her tired mind mused, "I should go to his grave tomorrow. It's been almost a week; he probably needs fresh flowers. Scott and Jean, too." She knew that the students, most of whom visited the graves regularly, kept all three of the dearly departed well-stocked with fresh blossoms, but, for Ororo, visiting the graves and laying flowers upon each had become a ritual. The superstitious African in her felt that if she kept their spirits pleased by leaving offerings on the graves, then they would stay with her and continue to guide her, to give her the strength to live from day to day. Perhaps it was all foolishness, but she needed to believe in and hold onto it.

Ororo leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she became one with the chirping of the crickets outside. Her mind whirled with fatigue, and soon she was asleep where she sat, the glass of water precariously balanced in her left hand. Only ten minutes of blissful slumber had passed, however, when she was startled awake by a sound which no creature of the night could have made. The glass slipped from her hand and crashed upon the floor, shattering into pieces amongst a cold puddle of water and melting ice as Ororo snapped to attention, sitting up in her chair and listening intently.

Footsteps echoed along the wooden floor of the hallway. Soft and cautious, they probably would have gone unnoticed by the weather witch if her mind had not been frightened into being alert. She knew that there was an intruder in the mansion, and that she should flee, to Logan's room and those of the other mutant teachers who had stayed in the school for the summer, but she was paralyzed with fear. She heard the unmistakable sound of sniffing, like a hound on the trail, and it became apparent to her that the intruder had caught her scent and was coming for her.

She leapt from her chair with such force that it fell over, banging against the floor loudly. Ororo's hand flew to her chest, as though she could still the beating of her heart. Against her will, a gasp erupted from her throat as a tall, dark shadow appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. The intruder emitted a low growl, full of menace, and his bright eyes, pupils slitted, glowed orange in the pitch black of the room.

Before she could think, the animalistic usurper sprang across the room, pouncing on her and knocking her onto her back on the floor. Her impulses took over, and her eyes began to go white as she prepared to send an electric jolt through the cat-like man on top her, but, before she could act upon her terror, she was shocked by a sharp pinprick of pain in her arm, and she cried out as she felt something traveling through her veins, crippling her power, making it impossible for her to fight no matter how she struggled. The intruder's laugh was low, mocking.

"Let's see you try to fight me now, weather witch!" he growled into her ear. Ororo felt something sharp caress the skin of her side, and she gasped as she realized that her attacker was using his long, sharp claws to cut away what little clothing she wore. Before long, she felt herself bare, exposed, and helpless before him.

"No…oh, Goddess, no," she moaned, and then felt pain cut through her cheek as he slapped her with his claws unsheathed, drawing blood from the scratches that he made on her face.

"Shut up!" he growled. Ororo yelped, and then, in a last attempt to get some sort of help, she let out a scream, piercing the air with her fear.

"I said shut up!" the assailant yelled, delivering another blow, this time to her neck. She squealed as the pain rippled through her body, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"That's right, bitch, cry. Cry like a fucking little girl" the cat-like man above her laughed as he pressed his nude body against hers. She felt this breath hot upon her breast and then she cried out as his teeth dug into the sensitive skin there. Involuntarily, she screamed again, but this was only met with claws racking down her stomach, slitting her skin and spilling her blood.

"Oh, Goddess…" she whimpered.

"Your god ain't gonna help you," the attacker growled as he pressed himself against her most private area, making her sob in agonized terror as he invaded her.