not about angels ✧ xmen: erik lehnsherr/magneto

chapter two

Telling my family goodbye was the hardest thing I could've ever imagined. But in some weird way I finally felt like it was a good time to feel this way.

I'm ready to leave.

My family never knew about who I was, surprisingly. My wings carve slight lines on my skin in the silhouette of exactly what you think wings would look like, the lines being a couple shades lighter than my actual skin tone. My pristine, white angel wings become fully free whenever I can finally take my brace off at the end of the day and stretch.

I guess now the cat's out of the bag. I'm an "Angel" Well, more preferably, I have angel wings. As far as I know that's all I have. I can fly, obviously, and my cuts heal abnormally fast. Sometimes I can hear different voices in my head, but I doubt that has anything to do with my mutation.

In my lifetime, I've spent countless hours online and in the library, researching on what I could be. Since the world is bound in chains with the obsession of religion, for a while I believed I was an angel sent from heaven. But I never truly acted on my instinct, because I never felt like I had a special duty to fulfill in the name of God. I'm just me (plus some wings).

Growing up as, what I believed was, "God's gift" wasn't easy. Every night I remembered I would sneak into the bathroom with the biggest pair of scissors I had to try and cut my feathers off, each delicate strand hurting more than the last. The pain was unbearable, and soon I realized that it was no use. No matter how deep I cut, they always came back. Yes, it's easy to hide, but it has more to do with the self conscious aspect of it. Everyone else believed it was a huge miraculous birthmark, and the pressure from my whole town to "bless them" created such a knot it my head that it hurt to think. This was only when I was 8 years old.

I eventually reached the point to where I accepted my mutation. I guess you could say I never truly learned to quote-on-quote love myself, I just became good at hiding. Literally, out of sight and out of mind. I would turn all the mirrors around, refuse to look at myself after I got out of the shower, and I began to cover up what I could with the winter clothes I had. If I had the chance to get rid of them right now, I would.

--

Packing what I needed and taking my final glances at the restaurant, I walked through the double doors with the same mystical ring I hear everyday, awaiting to be escorted to the new CIA Facility in Washington, DC.

Charles and Erik were in front of a black muscle car with shining silver rims, both of them talking to one another before I caught the eye of Erik, who was to the left of Charles from my view. I, of course, changed from my work attire, slipping on a creamy skin tight crop top with some brown pants that hugged me everywhere I needed them to. Not to mention my green cargo jacket and some brown ankle boots. {see image at beginning of chapter}

Erik was curiously looking me up and down, only stopping to my wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. He then shot me a smirk before proceeding to open the passenger door.

"Are we ready, Ms. Grimm?" Erik said in his raspy voice, gesturing for me to sit before I was interrupted.

"Woah, woah. Why do I have to sit in the back?" Charles protested, reminding me that he was even here.

"Because the back is crammed. We want Serina to feel comfortable, remember?" Erik almost snapped back, giving Charles a 'we just talked about this' look, which made Charles immediately back off and climb into the back seat.