Mystique's POV

I am not a morning person. No, definitely not a morning person. I am startlingly reminded of the fact, as I turn over, and the unforgiving light of morning covers my face. For a moment, I meditate on the idea of pulling the covers back over my head and feigning sleep. The moment passes and I return to rational thinking.

As I sit up, I see Eric is not longer next to me. His impression still sunk into the bed. His spot is still warm; he has not been awake long. I will not search for him; he has not gone far, he never does. I am bound to run into him, as I walk the hallways of this hellhole we call a house.

I push the rumpled navy blue covers away from me, and let them fall where they may. I suppose I am partial to the color, having boasted it for so long. I stand and walk into the adjoining bathroom. One of the few (and I do mean few) luxuries I have in this house is my personal bathroom. None of the other occupants of the house are so fortunate.

Trundling, I make it, in only a semi-daze, to the sink. A thin layer of steam covers the mirror; proof that Eric has made an appearance here. With what I believe to be my right hand, although I'm not entirely sure due to the state of sleepiness I am in, I swipe at the mirror. I feel a grin tug at my lips at the site of my nude form. If I am not mistaken, a purr of appreciation has escaped my lips.

I am such a vain creature, though I feel it should be permissible due to my unique physical state. I mean, truthfully, how many women can say they would admire themselves if they possessed an indigo figure? Not many, I can assure you. Over the years, I have become acquainted as well as proficient in this body. I am strong, lean with solid muscles, and pretty shapely if I must say so myself.

I know every curve, crevice, ridge, and bump. Anyone would I suppose, if you were naked 90 of the time. I have come to almost detest clothing. It's so…restricting, just another way for governmental society to limit the human race. I wear them only when it is obligatory.

This means, I am almost always clothed in this house. Once the thought slipped my mind and Todd saw a little more than he was suppose to. Let's just say, the poor boy hasn't been right since. His mouth permanently hangs open now, and not just because he wants to catch lazy flies.

Enough about my body, even if it is fine and sculpted. Sometimes I get so entranced by…me. I wouldn't get anything done, if I didn't have the ability to tear myself away from my bedazzling. To this day, Mystique is still somewhat of a mystery to me.

Unwillingly, I move from the mirror to the damp shower. A slight mist still fills the room, making it moderately warm. I reach for the slippery knobs and carefully adjust them to a balmy temperature. I watch, as the small clear droplets come together and quickly become a puddle, a pool, a river, and finally an ocean in the confines of the sandstone tub. Once the tub is considerably more than halfway full, I ease in.

I welcome the tepid water like a longed for lover, as the liquid envelopes me nearly completely. All my senses are instantly peaked. From my heads' point of view bobbing above the water, I watch my submerged body. The blue of my skin agrees with the light blueness of the water generating somewhat of a cerulean reflection on the sides of the tub. I wiggle my toes and find I take some pleasure in the sight of the ripples they create. I watch as strands of my scarlet hair float not-to-distantly in front of my face, almost taunting the darkness of my skin.

Scarlet, hmm…the color is loud, compared to my darker body. I have always wondered about that. What genius screwed up and decided to turn Picasso on my genes. Was God having a bout of color blindness when he saw fit to craft me? Well, we can't be perfect all the time, now can we?

I snort, very un-ladylike at my own cruelty. I do not exactly like the color, why lie? I hate it with a passion! Humph, of all the things I could choose not to like about myself, I choose my strangely colored hair. Mystique you are a queer one, I must admit. I don't truly dote on the fact, seeing as I have the ability to change it with the blink of an eye.

A need to just yank out all of the offending locks passes over me. Thankfully, if there is one thing I have a lot of, it's self-control.

I once had dark hair. Yes, I wasn't a brunette but a striking child with midnight black hair, hence the name Raven. But that was a long, long time ago, when I was but a child. Hmm…what is it about a hot relaxing bath that makes one reminisce? Whatever it is, I do not believe I like it.

I become vaguely aware of the fact that my skin is starting to prune, and a heavier steam has settled over the bath. I grab a washcloth (whether it is Eric's or mine I can't be sure) and hastily bathe, not wasting valuable time. I gaze at the mixture of soap and dirt (not truly visible, but there nonetheless) as I rinse myself. I must have truly been in a daze because I realize that all of the towels are in the hallway closest. Not truly a problem, I'll air dry.

I go to step out of the tub as my foot unknowingly rests on a nail (which I will later wonder how it got there), the pain is enough to send me stumbling. I let out a small yelp and watch a puddle of blood start to form. My other foot gets caught on the side of the tub, tripping me, and sending me headfirst into the rigid side of the sink. The impact jars my skull, distorting my vision. I blink trying to regain focus; it doesn't help.

I never think to scream as I feel my body crumble into a heap by the sink. Red mars my vision, or what little of it I have left. With what I am sure is my last conscious thought, I wonder just how in the hell a three-inch long nail got into my bathroom.

Author's Note: All translations courtesy of Alta Vista. I am very proud of this chapter. I like the way it turned out. I've never written from Mystique's point of view. I tried to make her sound…cynical, very sophisticated. How I see Mystique as a character. Of course this chapter included Kurmanda, I am a die-hard fan. The next chapter will be occurring while Mystique is subconsciously remembering a past memory. Please review, critiques welcome. Please forgive any spelling errors or mistakes, I try my best.