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PENELOPE.
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.
❝ oh —————— i'm sorry. ❞ the tone of her voice carries not of the weight of the frown that flashes across roza's face. it vanishes like a foregone vision. ❝ well then , welcome to the school ! my name is roza , it's nice to meet you. what was it again that you were searching for ? ❞ freckled cheeks blush to meet bright eyes and warming smile.
PENELOPE.
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.
❝ do i know you from somewhere ? ❞
“You had all the gentleness of flowers in your heart, in your hair, in your gaze.”
— Nikos Engonopoulos, from “Bolívar, a Greek Poem,” wr. c. June 1943