Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot. This poem is Poe's The Raven.s


The Raven: Magneto


The Raven

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.

Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-

Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-

On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

-Edgar Allan Poe


Its been. . . three years since the day Lenore died. . . I barely remember her now. I cannot believe I was ever her, and she, me. I remember her less and less with each passing day, and I know a day will soon come when I will forget her completely. She is but a shadow now, a pure white shadow of my past, and my future, a black darkness; Evil.

I no longer try to deny the evil I feel the way I tried to do when I first began my series of revenge. I no longer have anyone to revenge; I take vengeance simply because I feel joy in the pain of others. I have indeed grown as dark as my namesake. And I no longer deny it.

I have even given a name to the body I use to do my most horrid deeds. It is Mystique, a name that was once familiar to me. . . I no longer remember why it is so familiar. I have grown most comfortable with my form as Mystique. I can stay in it longer than I can in any other form, perhaps because I created it. Each day, I am Mystique longer; if only by moments, but these moments allow me to forget the hated and weak body of Lenore. Lenore who reminds me of the foolish innocence I once possessed.

My identity as Mystique is the most challenging identity I have ever made, perhaps because I know it is not a temporary body. It was created painstakingly, atom my atom, molecule by molecule, and I mean to keep it for as long as I can. It is the only body I have ever 'made.' All others were stolen from people I would brush against on the streets.

The creating of Mystique almost drove me mad, I spent an entire year obsessing and dreaming of a body so repulsive no one would ever dare come close to me. I am. . . somehow. . . afraid I will be. . . hurt. . . but more than that, I am afraid I. . . that I. . . will love them, and they will be hurt because of my love, in the same way my mother and my father and my. . . Cindy were hurt.

Six months ago my dream of the identity of Mystique was realized. As Mystique, my hair is blood red, my skin a sickeningly unnatural blue, scaly and slimy, and my eyes; the eyes that. . . my father? My father loved. . . My father loved my eyes. Even a father would, could not love these eyes. They are a dark yellow, looking like I was suffering from an illness that I would soon die of. I am, in a word, repulsive. My skin is my shield, my protection against humans and their incredible capacity to love and forgive. They are the last things I want- love and forgiveness, because they are the two things that may rob me of my hatred, and without my hatred, I am not be able to survive.

To the world I am Raven Darkholme, at least for now. It is a conspicuous name, but I will not have it for long. I change my identity as often as one would change their hair color. In the past three years I have been Jane Dusk, Ryan Slate, Katy Coal, Grace Midnight, Dan Ebony, and so many more I cannot possibly remember them all. They are I and I, I them. There are so many within me, I no longer know who I am. All I now know for certain is the definite power of the evil within me.


"Ms. Darkhome, congratulations. You've just been appointed the new deputy director of the Defense Advanced Research Planning Agency."

Former director Hadley looked at her snidely as he sneered his false congratulations; Raven Darkholme was probably the last person he had wanted in his high position. There was just something about her that he did not, could not trust.

She smiled at him with equal venom, wishing him dead. She would see to it that her wish would come true, but just not now. She had long since learned patience was necessary to survive.

"Thank you Hadley. . . and now you may leave my office." She allowed herself to savor the look of naked hatred in his eyes, and she called after him, "and please shut my door." She had finally worked herself to the top and Hadley to the bottom, and she would enjoy it.


Mystique sat casually at her desk, looking for information with which she would be able to incriminate any and all mutant haters. She suddenly bolted up, her eyes wide with surprise. She had stumbled upon an incredible document about a mutant. . . Magneto..

Her quick eyes eagerly scanned the paper, fascinated. She had found an ally in her fight to kill all that hated the mutant race. He was well established in his work and had already targeted and taken down many people that were in important positions. He would be a strong ally.

Mystique scanned the precious document quickly, hoping to discover his mutant power, but she was unable to. She did however find an ever-so interesting piece of information. . . his supposed address. She smiled coldly and grabbed her coat on her way out of the office.


Mystique surveyed the inconspicuous, two-story brick building, wondering if the treasure she was seeking was lying waiting for her. She was sure it was, she could feel his power.

She slid up to the door, and as she walked, her blue, power suit melting into her body to form her grotesque, defensive form of Mystique. She turned the brass, weatherworn doorknob slightly with deft fingers, hoping it would open, and she smiled as the doors swung open for her. She slinked inside, looking around her carefully, and suddenly, a loud voice from above boomed,

"So you've finally found me. . . Mystique is it?"

Mystique looked around frantically for this powerful mutant, feeling foolish for having walked so boldly into the home of a man that could easily kill her with a single thought. She gathered strength from her form as Mystique and answered back to the invisible figure with courage she did not posses,

"Hello Magneto."

And he laughed, his laughter surrounded her, suffocating her. She wanted to see him.

Mystique heard a soft noise behind her, and when she turned she saw him in the air, gently floating down as if invisible hands were guiding his landing. She gasped, his power was unmistakable, the very air around him hummed as he descended from the heavens like a god.

He was older than her, much older, and his experience was unmistakable and she knew instinctively he had once stood where she stood now, on the verge of a revolution within. She smiled; she would enjoy this.