I see nothing.

For once, in all of my life, I feel nothing.

Blessed numbness takes over me. I have never experienced anything so warm and soft and so like a cocoon, or if I have – I simply don't remember it after all this time. And for a moment, I feel beautiful, a caged butterfly never permitted to feel her wings, so that this apathy of nerves is the breathless pause before the unveiling. When something glorious emerges from the shell. That's what it feels like. Yes. Like the cosseting of metamorphosis.

Around me, movement flutters, seconds feel more like hours in length, and nothing penetrates the black veil that's seemed to fall over my eyes.

Nothing.

Except for a pair of celestial blue eyes.

And I'm certain they must be the color of Heaven.


In the void, I can still sense the things around me, but only just shapes and wraiths of contact. I feel hands – yes, there are hands, the cradled lined flesh that makes up the palm pressed against my forehead. Warmth. Vibrations beneath and above and shivering on all sides of my prone body. I'm tired. So very, very tired. Can I not sleep? Can I just move away from the world and her harsh colors for a little while, breathe in the black and gray sleep?

Stay awake, now. Steady, don't move too much. There, there, my dear, all is well. I have you now. Nothing can harm you when you're with me. I won't let them. I promise you that.


I remember so little of our first meeting that they are more like dreams than memory. After all, it is the afterwards, the epilogue, where the story truly begins, and that is what matters most to the evolution of myself.

Let me take you there first, so you may see what I see, understand what brought me here to the threshold of the deepest love, and so that you may take Charles Xavier for what you will. I will try not to color my tale with sentiment, nor lead you astray with my own judgments, and allow you to create your own picture of the man whom many call the greatest of our race. But as much as I am a mutant, somehow I am also human – I carry the worst of both species. But, like Charles, the beauty of both is in me as well.

Like many of our kind, I was persecuted, beaten and tortured and brutalized in ways I even now can hardly imagine, and exposed to the worst cruelty of mankind. I have come to find that it is not my place to blame them, for as much as they fear us, we, too, fear them. It is only natural to fill the void of an emotion we cannot place with hate, as it is the most inherent of our feeling, the simplest place in us that we can go to, over and over, and never feel as if we're intruding on something new and unformed and untouched. I still hate them. I can never forgive them for what they've done, for what they are doing, for what they will do to us. It's inevitable that they will always try to destroy us. We are the untouched place in them, the dormant part that they can never understand; nor do they want to.

But I cannot bring myself to blame them.

It is under these circumstances that I came to Charles. Alone, afraid, resigned to my solitude. I had become a wanderer, fresh out of an old life and trying to accustom myself to the new. It had been a hard transition, jarring - I was a pathetic creature when he first saw me, a lost hope, and many would have turned away and cast me out. But he had been kind to me, offered a hand when no one else even thought to spare a look in my direction. He had saved me in more ways than I could ever hope to know, as there are facets of him embedded deep in me, and I imagine they reflect the color of Heaven when the light of acknowledgment is passed over them. The same celestial blue. I will always carry those secret pieces of him with me. We always carry the leftover shards of our creator, the sweat of his brow, the callus of his hands and the labors of his love. It is only he who holds sway over what we are, what we will become, and what acts we shall commit to mark our place on the canvas of time.

I have come to base my existence on the logic that we do not choose for ourselves our fate, but rather it is shaped for us, before we can even hope to set another course amongst the stars.

It is not our place to decide what the world should hold for us, what hollow dogma we should follow, what thoughts we should think. I am fortunate that Charles had been in store for me – it was only the wait that had been truly painful. We as pariahs must learn pain; it was a necessary burden that I can now share with all of my kin.

I often find myself thankful for him, for though I was dismantled, it was Charles who built me from the inside out, and I am forever grateful to him and the gentle compassion he never failed to show me was alive and well in the world.

Charles always loved humanity.

And it is only through him that I may forgive them of the blood on their hands.


Disclaimer - I don't own Charles Xavier. He belongs to Marvel. I am basing his character off the portrayal seen in X-Men: First Class.