Psylocke's Secret Crush

A towering acrylic display outside an elevated boutique showcased the mutant leader in striking, full-scale precision—chiseled jaw firm, ruby visor leveled straight ahead. You fancied a warrior would melt before handsome features and an iconic scowl. Sentimental daydreaming is an illusion I cut down without hesitation. Vaulting onto the polished aluminum sill, I landed squarely on the pedestal's edge, locking eyes with the printed glare behind the pane. Leaning close, I pressed two gloved fingers to my lips and tapped the chilled acrylic right over his visor in a mocking, razor-sharp salute. Even the most dashing tactician cannot compromise my discipline.