**Aftercare of a Violated Soul**

The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by Psylocke's ragged breathing and the faint sound of Magik's footsteps as she returned with a bowl of water, a cloth, and a small first-aid kit. Psylocke's eyes widened as Magik approached her, the tools in hand, and for a moment, the two women simply stared at each other. Magik's expression was calm, almost serene, while Psylocke's was a mixture of fear and revulsion. Magik set the bowl and the kit aside, her eyes never leaving Psylocke's face as she sat down between her legs. Psylocke's eyes went wide, her body tensing in alarm as Magik's thighs brushed against hers. She tried to push herself away, but her battered body protested, sending sharp pangs of pain through her. Magik's eyes gleamed with a cold light as she reached out, her hand closing around the cloth. She dipped it into the water, her movements economical and precise, before gently parting Psylocke's legs. Psylocke cried out, her voice hoarse and barely audible, as Magik began to wipe away the blood and debris from her vagina. But as Magik cleaned her, Psylocke felt a burning sensation, like her skin was on fire. She grabbed at Magik's wrist, her nails digging into the skin as she tried to push her away. "No," she whispered, her voice shaking with pain and fear. Magik's expression didn't change, but her voice took on a slightly harder edge. "You need to be clean," she said, her eyes fixed on Psylocke's face. "You can't stay like this." But Psylocke shook her head, her hands refusing to move. Magik's gaze flicked to her hands, and for a moment, the two women simply stared at each other. Then, with a swift movement, Magik reached out and grasped Psylocke's arms, pulling them behind her back. Psylocke cried out, her body arching away from Magik's touch, but Magik held firm. She leaned forward, her breath hot against Psylocke's ear as she began to clean her vagina once more. Psylocke squirmed, her body twisting and turning in an attempt to escape the pain, but Magik held her fast, her grip like a vice. As she cleaned Psylocke's vagina, Magik's movements were gentle, but firm. Psylocke felt a wave of nausea wash over her, her body protesting the invasion. She was trapped, unable to move, unable to escape, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine. The burning sensation slowly receded, replaced by a dull ache that seemed to throb in time with Psylocke's heartbeat. She lay there, her body limp and helpless, as Magik continued to clean her, her eyes fixed on the task at hand with a detached, almost clinical interest. Psylocke knew that she was at Magik's mercy, and that thought filled her with a sense of despair that seemed to have no end.