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Stories by Loki'sRose

"Mama's Fairytale"
A young Rogue asks her foster mother to tell her a story

"What Colour Are My Eyes?"
Rogue recovers from an impulsive use of her powers. Poem.


Disclaimer: Rogue is Marvel's, not mine, and is being borrowed without permission, but this isn't for profit so please don't sue.
Rating: PG. There appears to be angst.
Feedback: Anything. Please. (If you spot any factual errors or gross mischaracterisations, pretty please let me know so I can fix them.)
Archiving: Just ask.
Summary: Rogue recovers from an impulsive use of her powers.

What Colour Are My Eyes?

What colour are my eyes?
Green is jealousy.
Green is envy.
It fills my world, colours my life.
All the things I cannot ever have, but want so dearly.

And the child had eyes
Such colours!
And I wondered if they saw a different world to mine.
A world of happy faces.
A world without fear.
A world of innocence.
And I Ė Ah wanted that.
For me.
To be other than I am.
To reach out.
And never worry at all.

And Ah Ė I knew I could take it.
Ah had the power to take it, just for a while.
And the power was mine, it had never been anyone elseís.
It wasnít borrowed or stolen.
It belonged to me.
The only thing thatís mine.
Even my eyes arenít my own, I canít tell if theyíre my own.
But the power is mine.

But I canít use it.
Not without causing pain and sorrow and fear.
It used not to matter.
Ah used not to care.

But I - Ah couldnít help myself.
Just once, I thought it could be different.
I thought it would be all right.
To see the world through different coloured eyes.
To lose control.
To take the things I want, as my genes were made to do.
My power, which is mine.
Mine only.

The child looked up at me with wide eyes.
So beautiful, like jewels.
I wanted to reach out. I reached.
To borrow them only, such lovely coloured eyes.
To wear them.
Just for a little while.
To see the world through different coloured eyes.

It doesnít work.
It never did.
The voice of memories echoes through my head.
Thoughts that are not mine, eyes that are not mine.
And the childís eyes flutter closed, as I watch with eyes that are not mine.
And the child falls. Comatose.
And I want to catch her, so she doesnít hit the ground, but my hands are bare, and she may never wake up.
The child might never wake and Ah still cannot touch.

However many eyes I look out of, this power stays. Ah can be anyone I want, but I am still always me. Ah run away. Ah run home. But Ah canít escape myself.

And it isnít fair, and I Ė Ah smash the mirror that shows me eyes that are not truly mine.
Powers ... that are not mine smash the mirror, shatter the fragile glass, rip through the wallpaper behind it, break through the plaster, punch clear through the brickwork to the world outside with such force that the fragments of masonry burst outwards like a bomb.
IÖ Ah could send them into orbit if Ah tried. But itís nothing to be proud of, it isnít my strength, my power.
I took it. I stole it.
It isnít mine.

Someone elseís powers.
Someone elseís eyes.

What colour are my eyes?
What colour are mah eyes?


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