Hello! This work is abandoned. However, it is up for adoption, so if by the end of this you are inspired, feel free to check out my profile and PM me, and we can work something out :)
I was just a girl. Seven years old, not a care in the world. The only thing I stressed about was what color an elephant was, for my coloring book.
My mother was a kind woman, if not a bit crazy at times. She often talked of the stars, and liked to experiment.
"The gods are watching," she would say, "and they require my services. One day, it will be your job, and you will take my place."
I would smile. I would watch her add in different ingredients, watching the liquid change colors. Sometimes, if I begged, Mother would give me my own ingrediants, and my own pot, and I would make my own potion.
"I feel like a witch," I would always laugh. "Is that what we are, Mother? Are we witches?"
She would laugh. That was her only response to my childish questions. It was never 'yes' or 'no'. Just a laugh.
My mother had worked on that same potion for three years. She did not go to bed until late at night, and awoke early every morning, always adding things. She had work, and did her job well, but it was the 60's - there wasn't much pay. Our house was small, and we mostly used candles.
We liked it that way. Mother, I suppose, found it cheaper. For me, however, it only added to my belief that we were, in fact, magical.
It was on my seventh birthday that Mother finished her concoction. I was excited - she had promised me it was my birthday present.
I remember the day clearly.
My black hair was in pigtails. My blue eyes took in every decoration - the red streamers hung from every shelf and the turn table played my favorite records. My dress was red, and went to my knees. The sleeves were a bit puffy, and I wore my princess tiara. I truly felt like royalty.
Then it was time for the small celebration with just Mother and I. We had macaroni and cheese, my favorite. We ate chocolate cupcakes, with white icing, like every year.
And then it was time for my present. Normally, it was something small - a necklace, a new box of crayons - but this year, it was my mothers work.
I had clapped as she poured me a small glass. It was blue that day, and bubbled slightly, making me laugh.
"What does it taste like?" I had asked.
Mother had smiled, placing the glass in front of me. "It's yours," she had said, " you tell me."
I had grinned, and after Mother nodded, I grabbed the glass, and took big gulps.
It had smelled of rain, and dirt. It tasted like apples and pears. It had made me sleepy, and I began to whine.
"You have to drink all of it," my mother told me. "I've spent years working on this for you. You can't let my hard work go to waste."
After many more glasses, I began to cry. Each sip was a different taste. It went from fruit, to vegetables, and once I was down to the last drops, it tasted of mud.
But Mother insisted I finished, so I did.
"Do you feel different?" She had asked. "Do you want anything else?"
But I just wanted to sleep. I didn't feel different, and didn't want to play Witches and Potions anymore.
Mother let me go to bed, and I fell asleep with my dress still on, and my hair still in pigtails.
It wouldn't be until the next morning I felt a change. It was loud in my head. I could hear voices. One was my own, another, my mothers. I didn't pay much attention, though. Mother said I had an active imagination - is that what she meant? Was I just playing pretend again?
I didn't bother getting dressed. I walked the stairs, still in my birthday dress, and my dark hair now freed from its binds. I passed a mirror on the way downstairs.
I looked different, but my child eyes couldn't pick out was it was. Except my eyes. They used to be dull blue, almost grey, but now they were blue. A bright, shining blue, like the potion Mother had made.
I had grinned, and ran down to my mother, excited to tell her that her potion worked, she was a real witch.
But my mother wasn't alone. There were strange men dressed in black all around the room.
"Run!" my mother had shouted, but I had hesitated.
A man placed his hand in my shoulder, and I looked up. His eyes hardened, and with a nod, threw me over his shoulder.
My mother screamed, and I screamed to. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear. I heard shots. I heard my mothers last strangled cry. But before all that, I had heard my mothers last words.
"Stay strong, Lilith," she had said. "Remember the gods. Serve the blue gods!"
I didn't know what she meant. The strange men often questioned her last words, but I would only cry.
"Where's Mother?" I would ask. "I want my mother. I want to go home."
My pleads fell upon deaf ears.
They tried to train me, to see what I could do. But once I blew up my bedroom, I was transferred to somewhere else. I was let out when they wanted to train me, but I soon grew frustrated. I loosened a pipe, and it crashed down on the man who had yelled at me for not paying attention.
I had laughed.
After a few more incidents, I was no longer allowed out of my room.
Years passed, and I became a teenager. They taught me many things, and I learned much quicker than normal teens. The years blurred, until my twentieth birthday.
SHIELD gave me a new pair of shoes. That was the year my hair stopped growing. I stopped growing all together.
Another twenty years, and no change. By then, I had mastered my abilities on my own. I was telepathic and telekinetic. I was a genius. I was still locked away, because five years previous, I killed three soldiers. They deserved it, really. They shot at me, testing my abilities. I grew tired of it, so what else to do when one is bored and has the power?
Twenty eight years later, and the Avengers formed. I heard the stories, how the six heroes stopped the evil villain.
And two years later, I am still here. In this little box, exactly how I was thirty years ago. I am allowed music. It keeps me sane, to a point. I sometimes go into fits, where I scream for Mother, and hit against the glass, throwing everything in my little room around with my mind.
"You would be a good hero, kid," Fury tells me, "if only you'd get out of that messed up head of yours."
But I don't want to be a hero. I want revenge. I want to blow Fury's brains out, as SHIELD did to my mother fifty years ago.
And I will, when the time is right.
