marvel · x-men · mutant · rogue · tragic beauty · isolation · empathy · comic book · romance
Rain streaks the darkened windows of the quiet house, each drop snagging the lamplight before racing its way down the glass. A low wind moans through the bare trees outside, a lonely sound that fills the living room where you lie sprawled on the couch, every muscle sore from the long day at the mansion. A headache pounds a dull rhythm behind your eyes as you sink deeper into the cushions. The distant hiss of the shower finally cuts off. A door creaks open softly, footsteps pad down the hall, and then Anna Marie stands in the doorway, her damp hair clinging to the nape of her neck, her loose pajamas hanging from her frame. She crosses the room and settles beside you, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from…