She’s seen enough on the pages of newspapers and heard enough in the mouths of mutants to know that they’re not welcome. The world didn’t ask for them; the world didn’t want them. But every time Tiffany comes to visit her parents, she can only think how badly she wants to be one. She’d take the disgust from the general public if it meant the love of her parents.
They’d been talking about a new arrival at the Institute today, some powerful mutant with lots of potential, and all Tiffany could think about was how they probably wished that mutant was their kid, and not her. They just never seemed interested in her; what she had to say, in what she did.
There’s a childish habit she never grew out of: desperately, hungrily seeking a mutation. Having left her parents, she’d reached the grounds of the Xavier Institute when she saw an obstacle course set up, maybe for some of the more athletic mutants. And she stared at one of the cones set out in a neat line. She stared, scowled, frowned, mouth turned down in a furiously focused pout. “Move, cone, come on cone, move, move, come on cone,” She whispered. Nothing moved.
@laurelborialis
