* METANOIA !

Nothing seemed to grab at Lupe’s memory more than smells. She still couldn’t smell the perfume she’d been wearing the night she was taken away, the one that lingered on her clothes for days, without wanting to throw up. The smell of antiseptic brought up a hundred different memories…The smell of cigarette smoke clinging to her father’s hair….

And the smell of vanilla and strawberries, mixed with the faint remnants of paints, always made her feel safe. It always made her think of her mother’s warmth. Roza and Lupe were close growing up, closer then than they were now. Lupe had pulled away from everyone after what happened, pulling inwards to cope.

Looking at her mother, here in this time, is like looking at a photograph. Only the photos never captured everything, did they? They certainly didn’t catch the familiarity that Penelope felt. People’s emotions held an aura. No one felt happiness or anger or fear exactly the same. Even if she didn’t know Roza’s face, Lupe would know her.

“No, 

                 I don’t think so. I’m new here.”

a   twinge   take   residence   upon   her   dark   brow   ,   as   the   breathlessness   of   something   vague   as   mist   runs   rampant   round   in   her   mind.   people   are   cursed   (?)   with   the   capability   of   wearing   time   and   hours   just   as   they   did   clothing   and   masks.   the   scar   on   an   arm   ,   the   wrinkles   by   the   eye———   all   of   them   rooted   and   earned   in   the   places   of   a   memory.   but   this   similarity   ;   could   it   be   genuine   ?   it   all   seems   bizarre   ,   filling   the   air   with   an   odd   sense   of   trepidation.  

                                     she   relents   ,   dismally.   if   only   to   stop   the   feeling   of   nausea   that   rises   beneath   her   tongue   like   the   tide   of   an   ocean.

Well, shit. Penelope wasn’t sure that this was where she’d meant to end up, at the Xavier Institute. Not entirely sure on the date though. Clearly the past–maybe nearly thirty years in the past–but the specifics were difficult to pin down with this place. Even now, there was so many things here that were just… old. 

The speedster sighed, brushing her hair back from her eyes. This would have to do then. It would have to be careful, but it wasn’t like Lupe was trying to avoid changing things. 

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the first person she saw. “Would you mind telling me where I can find Charles Xavier?”

THEY   WERE   DRIVING   TOWARDS   THE   SUNSET   ,   the   smell   of   the   ocean   hung  prevalent  in   the   car.   a   coastal   breeze   came   through   the   windows   carrying   some   sort   of   bright   mystification   ,   while   the   last   few   beautiful   specks   of   orange   sun   -   rays   warmed   their   faces  ———   creeping   up   the   interior   of   the   small   space...   it's   quite   now.   the   only   sounds   that   break   the   blissful   silence   are   the   even   more   welcomed   and   precious   ones   that   come   from   an   exhausted  ,  rosy  -  cheeked  three  year  old  in  the  back  seat.

NOW  HERE  SHALL  ENTER  :  THE  BEATING  HEARTS.   a  new  melody  to  this  wondrous  symphony.

an   arm   rested   on   the   edge   of   the   door  ,   with   fingers   playing   through   the   dark   contours   of   her   tresses.   the   other   hand   is   enveloped   by   some   five   other   fingers   that   belong   to   a   lover.   what   comes   next   is   simple   invulnerable.

     [     she   smiles   a   little.     ]

a   mixture   of   orange   and   blue   spots   trail   across   her   hands.   some   rouge   splotches   of   of   green   and   purple   cling   to   the   apples   of   her   cheeks   ,   covering   a   valley   of   freckles.   the   last   three   hours   had   been   spent   between   nimble   fingers   and   blank   canvases   turning   into   an   art   collectors   pitiful   gallery   exclusions.   but   their   opinions   would   be   inconsequential   at   best.   the   hallways   of   the   mansion   are   rivaled   by   the   smell   of   vanilla   and   strawberries   that   is   left   in   her   wake.

SALT   WATER   APPROACHES.   oncoming   waves   breaking   onto   sand   ,   the   ocean   is   bleeding   over   her   toes.   vain   is   the   way   cold   sea   foam   bursts   its   bubbles   ,   they   make   their   way   to   oblivion.   encased   in   each   one   of   them   is   the   memory   of   a   life   on   this   planet.

     —————————————   the   last   bubble   bursts   the   loudest.

ocean   hangs   in   the   air   once   more   as   a   figure   comes   near.   from   this   distance   roza   can   see   their   hair   and   the   spot   in   which   it   is   contrasted   by   a   silt   of   silver.   her   tongue   presses   against   the   roof   of   her   mouth   ,   like   she's   trying   to   remember   something   but   it   only   escapes   her.       ❝      ———      ❞       there   are   words   caught   at   the   back   of   her   throat.   perplexity   takes   hold   of   the   muscles   beneath   the   skin   of   her   face.   with   her   brows   slightly   furrowed   she   finally   responds.