Portrayed By Odeya Rush
Gender Female
Date of Birth September 2nd
Age 15
Zodiac Sign ??
Aliases ??
Place of Birth New York City
Current Location Mutant Town
Occupation Student
Known Relatives Father (Mutant hater group affiliate), Mother (Low level Mutant on the run)
Significant Other None
Identity None
Known Abilities Preflex, Oracular Prediction (NOT PUBLICALLY KNOWN), Low Level Psychometry, Telepathic Defense, Possession Incompatibility
First Appearance ???

"Where once was found, now is gone. To each his own their troubles flown. Beware the light, that sings the song. A song of pain the night ere long." ~~ Amunet Raggess


I'm not like the other kids that have had this happen to them. I wasn't kicked out of the house, I wasn't beaten. Hell, I didn't even have the normal looks of fear from my parents. They didn't even try and use my powers for themselves. Well, not until the end. But I've missed a couple of things, let me start at the beginning.

My mother, Nathalie was a seamstress that grew up in Maine and then moved to NYC with her parents when she was a kid. My father, having actually been born in Egypt, moved to NYC to go to school in Library Sciences and never ended up leaving, much to the annoyance of my grandparents.

Growing up, I can't say I really had all that bad a childhood. I was always kind of confused when it came to the mutant stuff. My dad was rather vocal at home but that's pretty much where his recriminating attitude stopped. Or so I thought. You know, the geeky librarian who had the rather serious but quiet attitude. The only thing he did that I thought was remotely exciting being that stupid church club for men meetings that he went to once a week.

My mother on the other hand had this odd tendancy to never get into the conversation on mutants. Whenever they came up she'd find laundry that had to be folded or a cake that had to be baked so she didn't have to listen to dad. I never really understood till that night when I had to leave home, just what she'd been trying to do, or perhaps praying for all those years.

I remember the first time I had anything pop out of my mouth and delt that sudden ice rush of cold I still get when my powers act up. I don't know what made me do it but it was right before my 14th birthday and I was on the way to the seamstress shop that my mom owned to help her. Starting to cross the street, she still doesn't know why on an august day she'd suddeny gotten the impression that she needed to run. Or she would have if there hadn't been a kid on the cross-walk with her. Picking the kid up and dashing across the street they both just barely missed being hit by a rather large truck, the driver had just momentarily started to doze after having been driving all night. It was the young child's scream that woke him up enough to keep from plowing into anything else.

Making sure the kid stayed out of the street, I went on my way just thanking my luck and not thinking much of it. Still shivering despite the heat and just chalking it up to adrenaline as I walked into my mother's shop. But today wasn't going to end with just that for my surprise, apparently it was going to be coming all at once for me that day.

Mom was having one of her busiest business days in the history of the place being open. Apparently the mayor was having some sort of ball and people were coming in with costumes or costume ideas they wanted ready within the ten months before the actual event itself. I thought she was going to go postal. I was helping pass out tea to the older ladies that looked like they had too much money and too much time on their hands. When I touched this one ladies arm to get her attnetion, I didn't even notice the gaudy and ugly costume jewelry she'd chosen to cover herself with, instead the world seemed to fade away visually and I wondered for the first time, but wouldn't be the last, if this is what it felt like when you fainted.

I don't know what made me say it, and I still can't remembert the looks of anyone around me. It was like I'd stepped into a room with a fog machine running. I could hear myself speaking but it was like several other voices had joined me. Before I could stop myself I was saying.. :

'To each their own, their time must come.
How this trail runs, is yet unsung.
Fire's hoop or Ice's blade.
But one will bring the price today.'

Such a small little badly written ditty and yet I can still remember it to this day. The old woman's face had scrunched up like she'd eatten something rotten or particularly sour and I'd never heard the shop so quiet when it had that many bodies in tis. It wasn't till later I understood why my mom went from looking at me with a sad experession to laughing and saying I'd been trying my hand at poem writing and apparently I still needed to work on it a bit more but that it was a good try. People seemed to believe her, but I spent the rest of the day in a corner trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, and why. Mom never did say anything to me about it, she just kept me in the back of the room for the rest of the day helping her with buttons and trimmings.

It never occurred to me, or noticed how I ended up with my mothers sweater and my jacket as well while I was working. I didn't think to mention it either. There I was in my turtle neck and long sleeves, while mom and dad were in shorts and smoldering. Apparently I wasn't the most observant, then aagin given the age and confusino going on, could you blame me?

Two weeks later, after a couple of weird close calls with the neighborhood bully and actually managing to dodge him for a change of pace. I was sitting at the breakfast table glancing over the paper trying to act like I was interested in it when I noticed something that just about took my breath away. The gaudy old woman. The one that had been there when i gave the weird poem. Her house had burnt down, from the report in the paper the gas furnace had been woefully out of date to the point where it was just a matter of time on whether it blew through the furnace or through the ancient freezer that she had blew up first. Thankfully she hadn't been in the house at the time, and probably didn't even remember what I'd said, unfortunately though, I remembered. From the look my mother gave me briefly from behind my father, she did too.

Going to school the next month ended up being a bit more problematic than I thought really. I was never all that popular, I sucked at sports and i didn't really have a cliche i fit into all that well. I managed though to have a friend in each of the cliches though even if I didn't particularly fit in. This year, I just couldn't get myself to really be around them as much. The different times I found myself just knowing to hide around a corner and not come out yet, or helping the kid from being run over. Then the thing with the old lady. It wasn't the only time it happened. Thankfully I was most of the time able to laugh the things off on the 'attempted poetry and wannabe thesbian' proving only that I needed more practice. Mom had come up with the perfect lie for me, and apparently it worked. The chills and headaches that came with it just wouldn't go away though, not all that easily.

Now and again along with the different 'poetry readings', the small flashes of well… rather accurate insight or inspiration when I'd be walking around would still come out of no where. I even had to remind myself of my rather active imagination because there were a couple of times after these readings when I'd pick up something of one of my friends and I would swear I had felt emotions that weren't mine. Jealousy for the Home economics teacher, rage at the football coach. In the end I'd managed to convince myself I just needed to sleep mor when it came to the emotional things, I really think during that time I was just not sleeping all that well.

I did start to find my own style even through all this though. Long sleeves, high necked-ankle length dresses and long to the elbow cotton opera style gloves. Not only did I like wearing them but it kept things from happening as often too. One thing I'll never admit to ayone is that I started keeping a diary too through all of this. Every time I had one of my episodes I wrote it down along with people I was around or who I'd touch. I don't know, but it's something I need to do there's this feeeling I have and it's not really something I can explain.

My only real place to relax was when I was in my home-economics class. Being able to help with making dresses and learning to cook, simple things so many people think it's out of date to learn but that's where I found my quiet peace and it's in those areas that I never had an episode. Then again the fact I had my own space might have had something to do with it. But I could just be in my own little world and no one ever seemed to mind.

There is a one week period, the last week I was at home and the last day at school that really has ended up being the turning point in my life and won't ever leave my head. The first day is when the principal at school called my parents saying he wanted me tested for turrets syndrome, because apparently I was belting out my 'poems' in my history class and had been repeatedly for the last few weeks whenever the teacher got near me. The teacher was too shaken to even go into the class if I was going to be there, and I was disrupting the the class consistantly. My dad of course didn't understand and said the teachers were just making things up to have a reason to get rid of me. That was when I got my choice, did I want to go to another school or did I want to finsih out my highschool years with homeschooling.

I was figuring out just what level of different I was becoming and as much as I wanted to be with my friends, I really didn't see it getting any better. In the end I didn't get the choice to answer on my own, dad had been so upset he'd been holding on to my wrists and shaking me, and every time he shook my arms my sleeves shifted. Till that moment when his hands touched my skin. I've never been able to remember what i said to him, i remember entering the mist again and the voices starting, but for the first time it got so cold, and my head hurt so badly that i blacked out.

I used to think my dad was one of those 'home recliner haters' and up until last night I still believed that. Whatever I'd said to him had him watching me more than the TV whenever he was home that week. And he'd just quietly stated that homeschooling was going to be the best choice for everyone.

The next day my mother was rather quiet up until the time that dad left for work. That's when she pulled me aside nd we sat down on the couch. "I know what you're going through you know. I went through it a little bit when i was a child, but never to the extent you are. I'm so sorry.." She looked like she was going to cry really but in the end she just straightened up. "I'm going to see if I can get ahold of a couple of friends I made when I first moved to NYC. I haven't spoken to any of them in years, but if anyone can help they can. Don't tell your father." Her voice dropping down to a whisper before getting up and moving into the kitchen.

Eevery day she'd wait till he went to work, or the three times that week he went to his church group for men and then spent the entirity of the day calling one person and then another and another. Frustration showing through and yet she never let dad know she was making the phone calls. I don't know why but I trtied my hardest to pretend nothing had happened at school. I went to the library and picked up as many of the years school books as I could, even writing myself out a schedule and making sure I'd been working on the 'homework' by the time he got home every day so he could see I was being good and studying at home.

That last night though, that last night he'd been a little bit late and mom tried staying on the phone. Having finaly gotten through to someone though I'm not sure who it was. She'd sounded like she was making plans, ones I never thought I'd hear come out of her mouth but I never once thought I'd actually heard correctly till the sound of the door closing with a slam made mom and I both look up and tot he doorway.

Dad was home, and he wasn't alone. I still don't know who the other man was, he had on a high collar jacket, you know one of those kinds that the cheesy 1940's PI's would wear, even complete with the fedora hat to hide his face. He didn't say a word, just walked into my room, grabbed a bunch of my clothes stuffed them in bags and shoved the bags at me making me fall over. It didn't hurt me, but it got my attention.

In the other room mom and dad were fighting something awful, she kept screaming at him that she wasn't going to let him take me there. That I wasn't going to go away. And I heard him yell back that if she didn't behave herself and cooperate that he'd toss her in there with me. Apparently he'd been listening in on her phone calls, or someone had.

At any rate, mom and I found ourselves bundled up and driven to where those ugly camps had been set up. Dad was filling out forms and handing them over to smeone with a weapon when mom tried to push the large man with the coat and tell me to run. It was then I got my biggest flash of inspiration and warning yet. I waited three seconds, counting them to myself before jumping and knocking my mother and I both over. Rolling to the side.

It was in that moment I knew I had to cooperate. So my dad and I made a deal. I'd go into the camp and he'd let mom leave him and go away. He wouldn't go after her, he wouldn't even try and keep track of her. He'd just leave her alone. Apparently that seemed to make him happy cause he walked away. mom was already running down the street and away from the camp, pausing only long enough to look at me and smile, mouthing 'soon'. Before disappearing.

I was grabbed by the back of my coat collar and tossed in past the gates into the camp area. Hitting my face against a wall as I fell, my two bags falling in with me. I didn't black out but I didn't move right away either. And this is where my new life is starting now. Locked away in a camp for mutants, by my own father. One of the enemy. Hopefully he'll never forget the warning I gave at the end of our deal. One day I was going to find him. He wasn't my father any more. He may have given me life, but I'm gonig to find him someday.


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