There is only one reason to fear Mystique.
She might not be Mystique at all.
Of course, it was easy to spot her. She wasn't blessed with the outward appearance of a normal girl, like other mutants. I mean, she was blue, for God's sake. This alone made her a freak to the eye of...well, she was a freak to everyone. She walked around the park veiled behind a thick layer of clothing, or jackets and scarves and shawls, which inevitably drew curious stares just because it was a sizzling August day.
And, as her mother went to go chat with other neighborhood moms, she observed the other children at play. She remembers, to this day, the hopeless, painful wistfullness that burned through her soul, watching them. A girl, small and petite and angelic, with light blond hair and shining green eyes, frolicked about, leaping up and down without a care in the world. Mystique had watched, mesmerized, wishing wishing wishing. Why can't I look like her?
And suddenly, the clothes around her felt bigger. She felt shorter. Her hands were suddenly buried beneath the sleeve. She shook it out, seeing pale pink skin.
The part about Mystique that seperated her from other mutants was that she was unstoppable.
While some were being arrested for their genetic mutations, she was the police chief issuing the warrant. While children her age were laboring away on impossibly difficult exams, she was the teacher distributing them. While detectives scoured the city for the killer of a poor, unfortunate housewife with a daughter with an undisclosed ailment, she had been the man lurking in the corner with the bloody knife in her pocket.
Mystique never worried. She could change herself from a man with a gun to an old women with a hump in seconds. She could be anyone.
And this was the frightening part.
She was your grocer, she was your mother, your father, your brother, your sister. She was the homeless man on the corner. She was the movie star you idolized. She was the man across the street, she was the women down the street. She was the arrested and the arrester. She was the teacher and the student. She was the driver and the passenger. She was the president and the dead beat in jail. She was you, she was me.
She was everywhere, everyone, and everybody.
Mystique is everywhere.
She is that person sitting beside you, with the strange glint in their eye.
She is Mystique, and she is everyone else.
She is the man, the women, the child.
And she is not on our side.
A/N Just watched X-Men, so few moments with Mystique something just had to be done.