@mystrust: i’m vengeance.
If mystique is vengeance, then rogue must be the knife in her hand, the tool with which she exacts her divine retribution. a willing mold, begging her to recognize that she too can share the mother’s cruelty. she too has jagged edges. she too is unbearable to swallow.
there is the grind of her teeth, the furrowing of her brow. “ yeah, yeah, whatever! ” and the facade of her maturity gives way to a juvenile impatience that refuses to yield, coughed out with an arrogant glare. the child believes herself ready – and is angry at the mother for her hesitance. the saccharine taste of death is already far too familiar for the both of them, bonded beneath the violence at their own hands. “ when can ah knock the lights outta him momma?”
