When she'd laid on the bed, terrycloth robe parted in what she had hoped was an arousing fashion, she thought about Erik: about the dizzying freedom he made her feel, how she didn't have to use up all her energy trying to keep blonde hair in place and pale skin from darkening to indigo.
And she'd slipped into the skin she'd always hated before.
With Erik's words buoying her up she asked Charles a question—the question, really, because she knew even then that his answer would mean everything—and was devastated by his answer.
And she chose Erik.
When she'd laid on the cold, metallic ground, body writhing uncontrollably from a cure turned weapon, she thought about Charles: about how his eyes would never, ever be as empty and pitying towards her as Erik's were then, how, even if he'd been too young and unthinking to see that he was pushing her away: he truly loved her—her, not her mutation, not her usefulness, but her. Raven.
And she'd slipped into the skin she'd hated since her time with Erik.
With Charles' last pleas filling her mind she sucked back her tears and made a decision—a decision that, once made would change everything; could never be undone—and as soon as she could get away she went to the humans she'd hated for so long and told them everything they'd ever need to know to take down Magneto.
Information that he'd so arrogantly allowed her privy to because he assumed that she would remain loyal, no matter what. And if she hadn't been pierced by that needle, if he hadn't left her to die—maybe she would have.
Charles was dead and Erik may as well have been in the ground, too for all she cared, and for the first time there was no one there she felt she had to please, to follow, to give her life to unconditionally.
And she chose herself.
I don't even know. Think this is my brain trying to get past some writer's block.
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