Virtue

To my dearest of friends. May this letter reach you.

It has been six years to the day since you departed and I confess I still miss you as if it were the day of. I have isolated myself from the world. I've locked myself in the lighthouse and I scarcely leave its borders. I am afraid of what I may do if I were to ever be exposed in public. Please do not worry for me. Enjoy your life in the glorious world in which you have now entered and I cannot. Forgive me for letting you go. Of all the things I can do, I could not keep you with me. I am sorry. Please know that I love you and I am only angry at myself for your leaving. I love you so dearly my sister. Live well and rest peacefully.

-Rebecca C Thatcher

Rebecca carefully rolled the letter and placed it inside a glass bottle. With all the strength in her, she cast the bottle off the cliff into the roaring Atlantic Ocean bay twenty miles outside Newcastle, Ireland. The fair complexioned woman brushed the tears from her eyes and watched the bottle sail into the unforgiving sea. Just off the horizon, the first signs of dawn were approaching. The sky began to grow lighter and the many stars and constellations faded. Rebecca turned her back to the cliff that stood nearly a hundred feet off the water. The brick lighthouse stood proud as its light cut through the dark. Rebecca stepped through the picket gate away from the cliff. As she walked around the lighthouse, her home came into view. The quaint cottage was covered in ivy with white flowers blooming. She slowly walked across the stone bridge that stood over a small creak that flowed from the woods far off to her right. The porch creaked as she stepped into the wooden floored house. Inside looked as if someone had built walls around a garden. Flowers stood in vases on every table surface. The Ireland air was as fresh inside as it was outside. Though she lived alone, she lived comfortably. This was her home and the only home she would ever need.

As Rebecca poured her morning cup of coffee, she could still feel the heavy pain that sat on her chest. She looked around the kitchen and out the large window above the sink. She could see the rolling green hills that stretched for miles. The cherry blossoms were blooming already and their fragrance was adored. Yet, it all felt empty. Rebecca hadn't left her property, though it was massive, in six years. She was hiding from the world.

Rebecca sat at her desk, picked up the old fashioned quill and began writing on the weathered paper.

I have always been able to sympathize with people, even when I was a child. My mother told me compassionate hearts were hard to find, so I should hold tightly to it so I would never lose it. Little did I know, it would be the reason I hid. I can scarcely travel into town anymore without collapsing from the pain. I can feel what they feel. I know I am like the ones the world fears, but I do not belong to them either. If I were to stay in the company of anyone for long, I know it would kill me. My heart is not strong enough to carry the weight of the world. Was that what I was destined for? To die for humanity was never my burden to lift on the Cross. Another has already done that. Surely, I would die if I was apart of humanity. Therefore, I stay alone, and alone I will stay. Forever…

Rebecca let the small tears in her eyes drip on the page before she sealed it inside a large, leather bound book. "One for every week." She muttered closing it and returning it to the spot on her shelf. Rebecca took in a deep breath and sighed. She smiled to herself hoping it would lighten her heart. "Now, for my garden."

It was nearing lunch time when Rebecca stood and brushed her hands on her apron to rid them of dirt. She heard a low rumble coming from the dirt road that lead to her cottage. As she peered out from the gate she saw an expensive Rolls Royce coming over the hill. She gasped and backed away. 'Who would be coming?' she asked herself. 'No one knows I'm here.' She mentally thought of the day 'Saturday the 5th'. It couldn't be the grocery man, he only came on Wednesdays. Rebecca fled inside the house and closed the door, locking it. She frantically pulled the apron off and threw it into the hall closet. Rebecca closed the blinds and turned off all the lights in the house. Just as she hid behind the front door, there came a knock on it. Rebecca carefully peered through the peep hole and saw a bald man in a wheelchair with his fingertips pressed together and his eyes shut. Next to him was a tall, dark skinned woman with short gray and white hair. They were both dressed nicely, as if they were coming for some business meeting. Rebecca felt her head begin to ache and her breathing quickened. The woman knocked on the door again.

"She's standing inside the door," the man said. Rebecca backed away until she collided with the wall.

"Please, we just want to talk." The woman said in a raised voice. Rebecca crouched on the floor hugging her knees. The bolt on the door began sliding away. At first Rebecca thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, or the throbbing in her head was getting to her, but it was neither. The handle to the door turned and the door swung open revealing the man and woman entirely. The man in the wheelchair rolled forward slightly and smiled warmly.

"Hello Miss Thatcher. My name is Charles Xavier, this is my good friend Ororo Monroe. Might we come in?"