This entire chapter is set in Mystique's childhood.
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The Raven: When I had a Soul
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The Raven
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
-Edgar Allan Poe
****
"Mommy, Mommy! LookitwhatIgotforyou!"
Panted a small, angelic girl of five, holding a small bouquet of wilted, dying wildflower that were only beautiful in the eyes of the child and the man who loved her. A tall man with pain in his eyes loomed over her, covering the sun with his large frame.
"Lenore honey, Mommy can't come outside right now, ok? Mommy's. . . Mommy's sick honey, and you have to be very quiet when we're inside so she can get better, ok?"
"Ok Daddy, I'll be quiet."
Replied the now solemn eyed child, instinctively knowing that her father's pain.
"Thatta girl, go play with your toys now hon."
"but Daddy, can you give the flowers to Mommy? Tell her its from me."
Then gentle-eyed man smiled and humbly took the flowers that his child offered.
"She'll be so happy to see these Lenore, they're beautiful. I'm sure that they'll help her to get better soon."
Lenore grinned a smile filled with child-like innocence and sunshine. She skipped away, into the wildflower garden that she loved, to play with her flowers.
The strong man stood there, watching her with a slight smile. She disappeared around the corner, and he looked down at the flowers she had picked with her small, chubby hands with an empty look in his eyes. A solitary tear dropped from his eye, then another. He sank down into the grass, placed his face into his hands, and wept.
He wept for his wife, Anne, who would never be able to see the beautiful bouquet that her child had picked for her, he wept for their Lenore and the pain she would have to endure. He wept for himself for the loneliness he knew that was to come. He struggled to compose himself, and lost the fight. He stood up, still weeping, and walked into the house where his wife's almost empty body was waiting for him.
****
When the doctor told them the news, nearly two years ago, they were stunned. Their lives were forever changed with the one dreadful word he uttered. Cancer. Everything had been going so well. They had a young daughter they both adored, they were finally out of debt and more then well off, and they had been in the best of health. Or so they thought.
They had tried every drug and every therapy, nothing worked. After months of chemotherapy, the doctor told them the agonizing news. Nothing was working. Anne's cancer was only getting worse. He said that Anne could have a marrow transplant as a last ditch effort to live, but back then it was still in the developing stages. The odds of surviving it were slim to none. He had wanted to take the risk, he would have taken any risks if it meant that Anne would live to see her daughter grow up, but she refused. Anne said in that soft voice of hers, that she already knew her time had come; there was nothing to do but wait for it. She wanted nothing more then to die peacefully at home, surrounded by her husband and daughter. She was sick of all the pain.
****
Michael gently laid the bouquet of flowers on the small table next to her bed. Then he sat down in the soft chair, the chair that now had a permanent dent in its supple cushions. It was a small chair, a chair he often slept in, cried in. It was the chair that he was in constantly, the chair next to the deathbed of his wife, his precious Anne. He sat and he buried his face in his hands again, and quietly sobbed.
He felt the lightest touch on his leg, a touch as light as a feather from the wings of an angel. He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. She was awake. His heart leaped up, it was the first time in almost three days that she had been awake.
"Michael?"
Her voice barely stirred the air.
"Yes darling?"
He asked, trembling.
"Its my time, Michael, I can feel it. . . I'm so sor-"
She gasped for breath, her body weak.
"Darling, save your strength, and don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. The years that you have given me has made me more happy then I ever believed I could be, so don't ever be sorry. . ."
Silent tears slid down her beautiful face to be absorbed into the pillow. She spoke only one more word.
"Lenore. . . "
"I'll take good care of her Anne, don't worry about us. Look darling, she picked these beautiful flowers for you. Wildflowers. She shares your love for all the wild and natural things. . . Look at how beautiful they are darling, beautiful just like you."
Anne smiled a silent, peaceful smile, and her vivid, still lively blue eyes met his dark, sorrowful ones. She gently blinked twice. This had become their signal for "I love you, dear," when she was too weak to speak. Michael's eyes brimmed over with tears. He blinked slowly, twice. The acidic tears slid down his cheeks, burning his heart. With the last bit of strength that was still left in her, she lifted her gaunt arm slightly and caught a falling teardrop. She closed her almost lifeless hand around it and met his pain filled eyes for the last time. She smiled for him, then closed her eyes. Just like that, she was gone.
****
Michael's grief trespassed all boundaries. They had been best friends since childhood, and then later, high school sweethearts. They were married on the 20th anniversary of the day they had first met, the day when he had told her she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he intended to marry her when he "grow'ed up". They were soul mates, their love was perfect and pure, and now she was gone.
Michael lost everything the day Anne died. He was so overcome with grief, he forgot his promise to her, he forgot Lenore. He lived for another year, but truthfully, he died the day Diane died. He became a ghost, drifting in and out of the house, drifting in and out of Lenore's young life.
****
Lenore grieved quietly for the young mother she loved so much, and the handsome father that she had been so close to before her mother's death. The day she picked those beautiful wildflowers was the last day in her young life when she was truly happy. After that faithful day, she lost everything, both mother and father. She was left to raise herself and a grown man all alone. Michael followed Anne into the grave a short year later, and the six-year-old Lenore was left truly all alone in the world.
****
I write SOO much faster when I get reviews, so please review!! ^^
****
The Raven: When I had a Soul
****
The Raven
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
-Edgar Allan Poe
****
"Mommy, Mommy! LookitwhatIgotforyou!"
Panted a small, angelic girl of five, holding a small bouquet of wilted, dying wildflower that were only beautiful in the eyes of the child and the man who loved her. A tall man with pain in his eyes loomed over her, covering the sun with his large frame.
"Lenore honey, Mommy can't come outside right now, ok? Mommy's. . . Mommy's sick honey, and you have to be very quiet when we're inside so she can get better, ok?"
"Ok Daddy, I'll be quiet."
Replied the now solemn eyed child, instinctively knowing that her father's pain.
"Thatta girl, go play with your toys now hon."
"but Daddy, can you give the flowers to Mommy? Tell her its from me."
Then gentle-eyed man smiled and humbly took the flowers that his child offered.
"She'll be so happy to see these Lenore, they're beautiful. I'm sure that they'll help her to get better soon."
Lenore grinned a smile filled with child-like innocence and sunshine. She skipped away, into the wildflower garden that she loved, to play with her flowers.
The strong man stood there, watching her with a slight smile. She disappeared around the corner, and he looked down at the flowers she had picked with her small, chubby hands with an empty look in his eyes. A solitary tear dropped from his eye, then another. He sank down into the grass, placed his face into his hands, and wept.
He wept for his wife, Anne, who would never be able to see the beautiful bouquet that her child had picked for her, he wept for their Lenore and the pain she would have to endure. He wept for himself for the loneliness he knew that was to come. He struggled to compose himself, and lost the fight. He stood up, still weeping, and walked into the house where his wife's almost empty body was waiting for him.
****
When the doctor told them the news, nearly two years ago, they were stunned. Their lives were forever changed with the one dreadful word he uttered. Cancer. Everything had been going so well. They had a young daughter they both adored, they were finally out of debt and more then well off, and they had been in the best of health. Or so they thought.
They had tried every drug and every therapy, nothing worked. After months of chemotherapy, the doctor told them the agonizing news. Nothing was working. Anne's cancer was only getting worse. He said that Anne could have a marrow transplant as a last ditch effort to live, but back then it was still in the developing stages. The odds of surviving it were slim to none. He had wanted to take the risk, he would have taken any risks if it meant that Anne would live to see her daughter grow up, but she refused. Anne said in that soft voice of hers, that she already knew her time had come; there was nothing to do but wait for it. She wanted nothing more then to die peacefully at home, surrounded by her husband and daughter. She was sick of all the pain.
****
Michael gently laid the bouquet of flowers on the small table next to her bed. Then he sat down in the soft chair, the chair that now had a permanent dent in its supple cushions. It was a small chair, a chair he often slept in, cried in. It was the chair that he was in constantly, the chair next to the deathbed of his wife, his precious Anne. He sat and he buried his face in his hands again, and quietly sobbed.
He felt the lightest touch on his leg, a touch as light as a feather from the wings of an angel. He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. She was awake. His heart leaped up, it was the first time in almost three days that she had been awake.
"Michael?"
Her voice barely stirred the air.
"Yes darling?"
He asked, trembling.
"Its my time, Michael, I can feel it. . . I'm so sor-"
She gasped for breath, her body weak.
"Darling, save your strength, and don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. The years that you have given me has made me more happy then I ever believed I could be, so don't ever be sorry. . ."
Silent tears slid down her beautiful face to be absorbed into the pillow. She spoke only one more word.
"Lenore. . . "
"I'll take good care of her Anne, don't worry about us. Look darling, she picked these beautiful flowers for you. Wildflowers. She shares your love for all the wild and natural things. . . Look at how beautiful they are darling, beautiful just like you."
Anne smiled a silent, peaceful smile, and her vivid, still lively blue eyes met his dark, sorrowful ones. She gently blinked twice. This had become their signal for "I love you, dear," when she was too weak to speak. Michael's eyes brimmed over with tears. He blinked slowly, twice. The acidic tears slid down his cheeks, burning his heart. With the last bit of strength that was still left in her, she lifted her gaunt arm slightly and caught a falling teardrop. She closed her almost lifeless hand around it and met his pain filled eyes for the last time. She smiled for him, then closed her eyes. Just like that, she was gone.
****
Michael's grief trespassed all boundaries. They had been best friends since childhood, and then later, high school sweethearts. They were married on the 20th anniversary of the day they had first met, the day when he had told her she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he intended to marry her when he "grow'ed up". They were soul mates, their love was perfect and pure, and now she was gone.
Michael lost everything the day Anne died. He was so overcome with grief, he forgot his promise to her, he forgot Lenore. He lived for another year, but truthfully, he died the day Diane died. He became a ghost, drifting in and out of the house, drifting in and out of Lenore's young life.
****
Lenore grieved quietly for the young mother she loved so much, and the handsome father that she had been so close to before her mother's death. The day she picked those beautiful wildflowers was the last day in her young life when she was truly happy. After that faithful day, she lost everything, both mother and father. She was left to raise herself and a grown man all alone. Michael followed Anne into the grave a short year later, and the six-year-old Lenore was left truly all alone in the world.
****
I write SOO much faster when I get reviews, so please review!! ^^