"Why hello the-are you okay?," a soft British voice asked from beside the girl sitting at the bar. A drink had been placed in her hand long ago and it remained full as she stared at it with distaste. The man's words were lost in the loud noises of the nightclub, and she would have continued to sit there, glued to her bar seat forever, if not for the the hand placed gently on her shoulder. Startled, she gasped and flung her drink in his direction, spilling the alcohol contents all over him and his friend. And it was as she turned that the two men could see, in the disco lights of the dance, her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. Her silky brown hair lay around her shoulders in a disheveled way, her clothes-way too ordinary and mundane for a night out clubbing- were wrinkled and stained with what seemed to be blood. But what was, perhaps, the most disturbing thing of all; was the horrified expression stuck to her face. It made her look much older than she actually was; mouth open and ready to scream for help, and her eyes. Those brown eyes that held so much fear in them it seemed impossible.

"I-uh-s-s-s-..." she stumbled, clutching the glass so hard in her hand her knuckles were turning white. She stood in a defensive stance, feet turned as if she was going to run at any moment.

One of the men stepped forward. Her deep brown eyes, the ones that held so much fear, frantically swept over him. He was young and thin, with long brown hair. It was hard to tell the color of his eyes in the ever changing light, but she did see wisdom in them.

"What have you seen?" He asked, almost to himself. It was hard for the girl to understand what he was saying. She flinched as someone bumped into her, and in that moment she took the appearance of a cornered animal. Fear made her look sickly. He held up a hand to his head and gazed at her, and she started to scream. Clutching her head she fell to the ground.

"Stop! What are you doing? GET OUT!" She cried, kicking her feet out in front of her. The recent memories of the night replayed in her head, the horrific scenes that she was trying so desperately to forget were forcefully shoved before her eyes once again. Her screams of agony were lost among those of pleasure in the raging crowd. He was doing this, she realized. The glass had fallen from her hand and shattered on the floor, shards sticking into her sweaty palms as she pressed them to the ground in a desperate attempt to flee the scene, but she couldn't feel the pain. She also couldn't escape. She pushed herself back until she was underneath the bar counter, unable to back away any further.

"Charles! What are you doing?" The second man asked, stepping forward from his spot in the back. He was taller than his friend, and more muscular. His eyes were harsh in the light, his voice strong and powerful. His hair was shorter as well, and his accent wasn't British. It was German.
Charles took his hand away from his head, eyes going wide. "I barely looked, I swear!" He paused for a moment before he turned to his friend and shook his head. "She holds so much pain," he said with concern laced in his tone.

"Who are you?" The girl screamed at them from the floor, starting to shake. Fresh tears started to pour down her already tear-stained face as she waited for an answer. They were here to kill her; she was positive. The same people who killed them- back for the last one. None of the other party goers payed the three any attention; the music was too loud and the lights were too bright to do anything but squeal and party.

Charles walked over until he stood directly in front of her, his eyes filled with sadness as he looked down at the mess of a girl sobbing on the floor. It was almost as if he knew what pain she was going through. But he couldn't have, she assured herself. Nobody could even begin to understand her pain.

"My name is Charles Xavier and this," he motioned to the man behind him who stepped forward until he was directly next to Charles, "is my friend Erik Lehnsherr."

"What do you want with me?" She whispered, gazing between the two men with ever-wide eyes. She was surprised to see that Charles seemed to hear what she said.

"We wish to recruit you. You see, like you, we too are mutants." Charles explained, a smirk threatening to play on his lips. The girl on the floor gasped, staring at them with wide eyes.

"How did you know...?"

You're not the only one with a gift, a voice spoke in her mind, causing her to gasp once more.

"It's alright," Charles cooed to her, smiling gently. She forced herself to wipe her eyes, smearing blood from her hands onto her face.

"R-recruit me for what?" She asked with a sniffle.

"We're trying to stop a man named Sebastian Shaw. We've been gathering as many powerful mutants as we can in order to do so." Erik's emotionless voice matched his emotionless stare as he answered her question. She gazed at him before her attention was drawn back to Charles.

"He's very powerful. And very dangerous." He shared another look with Erik. "Please. We need your help."

"You need my help?" She asked, exasperated. "You can enter people's minds!" She turned her wide-eyed gaze back to Erik. "And what can you do?"

"A trick for another time, perhaps." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, show us what you can do." He urged her.

He pushed on, asking once more, urging her to reveal her secret. She looked at him, and then to Charles, who simply nodded at her. She gazed down at her shaking hands, staring at them for a second. And then another one. Charles and Erik shared a look, one of boredom. They gazed back at her only to find her starting to glow. She was encased in gold, light radiating from her skin until she was the sun. It was painful to look at but the intense beauty of it also made it impossible to look away. They stared in amazement as she spread her arms; the light encasing her body and turning her into golden rays. She glowed until she was the brighter than the disco lights; brighter than anything they had ever seen.

That's when people started to notice. They pointed and stared, some even screamed as her glowing skin faded back into its regular caramel colored tone and she ducked her head at the oncoming insults. She knew this was going to happen. Whenever anyone found out what she could do they never stopped to appreciate the beauty of it. They just noticed how different she was. And different was always bad.

" Ew, what is that?"

" It's one of them."

"Get it out of here!"

Erik turned and held a hand out to her. "What an amazing talent. What's your name?"

She gazed at that strong hand, gears in her mind racing. He had called her mutation amazing. She tilted her gaze up until it met with his, and she found it hard to look away. So she didn't.

"I'm Karme," she said in response to his question, slipping her nimble hand, still filled with shards of glass, into his larger, much more secure one.