Superman Returns Xenia -

"Oh, darling," she whispered. "I could get used to this." Metropolis didn’t know what hit it.

Superman closed his eyes. Not in pain. In sadness .

Xenia Onatopp read it three times. Then she laughed until her ribs hurt, until the nurse came running, until she realized—horrified, delighted, finally curious —that for the first time in her life, she didn't feel like killing anyone.

Outside, the sun was rising over Metropolis. And somewhere up there, she knew, he was listening. superman returns xenia

He didn't push her away. He didn't punch. He rose . Straight up, through the clouds, into the freezing stratosphere. Xenia clung tighter, laughing, gasping, the green fire in her veins starting to flicker. The air thinned. The cold bit through her stolen invincibility.

A note on the nightstand, written in blue ink on Daily Planet letterhead:

She hit him again. And again. Each blow sent a little green crack through his suit, through his skin, through his calm . "Oh, darling," she whispered

First, a casino heist where she walked through the vault door—not around it, through it. Then a penthouse party where she threw a grand piano off the balcony just to hear the Doppler shift of its scream. Then the helicopters. She plucked them out of the sky like rotten fruit.

And then—a hand. Warm. Unbreakable.

She laughed. It was bright and sharp as a diamond saw. Not in pain

The impact tore her loose. The cold shock ate the last of the crystal's glow. She sank, spinning, limbs gone soft and human again.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm fighting for you."

The first time Xenia Onatopp felt truly alive was between a strangle and a scream. The second time was in the wreckage of a crashed spaceship.

"Xenia Onatopp." His voice was calm. Disappointed. Like a priest who'd seen too many confessions. "The radiation from that ship is killing you. The green crystal—it's not power. It's poison."

"You're not fighting for truth and justice right now," she whispered, grabbing his cape and pulling him close. Her thighs—famous, deadly—locked around his waist. The old move. The killing squeeze. But now powered by alien poison and sheer, psychotic joy. "You're fighting for breath ."