The Girl with Wings and a Metal Arm || Avengers Fan Fic

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cosima fell onto the hard ground. She could hear Natasha's voice, saying that she needed to come back to her, but she couldn't see her.

She was in a pink room. All the walls were pink. The bed was pink. Pink ribbons edged the pink curtains. Pink shoes lined the bottom of a pink-doored walk-in-wardrobe. It was lined with all colours of clothes, but was given a special pink section. Fancy windows with pink ledged seats shone brightly in the sunshine-filled day. Cosima got up and turned around. A large TV hung from the wall and three computer screens lined a white marble desk with a pink tinge.

Cosima touched the dark pink desk chair. It was like she had done this before. She touched the computer screens individually. They flickered to life, showing pictures of a young girl with flowing blonde hair in different styles in each picture. She was pictured with many different people. She appeared happy, full of laughter yet a bit big-headed.

Cosima moved to the bed. It had five cushions of different pink variations. There was a white quilt on top of a neatly folded bed. Pictures of the same girl from the computer screens appeared on various photos on two night stands. Cosima lifted one to look at. 

It showed the girl more in depth. She had a pale complexion mixed with off-white foundation and horrible make-up. Her lashes were long for her doe brown eyes. A few freckles dotted her cheeks and perfectly red lips stood out from her face. Large marble orbs hung from her ears and her blonde hair was curled and brought in front of her face. She had a beautiful smile on, as well as a pink and white outfit. She was just the right shape, perhaps a little skinny, but beautiful. The twinkle in the girl's eyes reminded Cosima of someone, herself.

Cosima smashed the photo. This wasn't her. How could it be? Cosima was Cosima, not this girl.

Suddenly, the lighting switched and she was lunged in darkness. Storm clouds filled outside, and rain bulleted down on the windows. A cold tingle went through Cosima. Dust completely filled the room, covering everything pink and turning it dark grey. Cosima thought whoever used to live in the room - the little girl - must have died.

Cosima left the room and entered a white hallway. It was all familiar. But why? Cosima brushed off the strange feeling. She made her way down the hall, looking at all the pictures. They were of serene countrysides and of peaceful animals. Everything was beautiful in it's own unique way.

Cosima came down some white, marble stairs that attached to a kitchen walk-way. There was a massive portrait of a happy family. The little girl was there in a blue outfit which emphasised her eyes. There also seemed to be a mother figure and a father figure. They appeared moderate and kind, as if they were of no importance. They smiled, but the mother looked longingly at her children instead of the camera lens. There was three boys who didn't appear to be old and not young either. They resembled the mother and father and did look like this girl's older brothers. 

Cosima was staring at the picture when she heard voices. This was the first sound she had heard. It was a woman. Tears edged her voice. She sounded frail, as if she was close to breaking point. She was pleading, pleading for someone. Begging for this person. Offering anything for this person's safe recovery. 

Cosima walked closer to where this voice was coming from. Eventually, she saw a woman and a man sitting on chairs in the kitchen. They were talking to cameras. It was an official plea for someone. 

As soon as Cosima stopped to observe them, the mother and father from the portrait turned around. Delight filled their eyes. They ran for Cosima. She tried to get away, but they were quicker. They clung onto her and tears poured out of their eyes.

"Morgana! Where have you been?" the mother asked.

"I'm not Morgana. Get off!" she yelled. 

"But you are. You are the picture of her," the father said.

The mother brought out a mirror and shoved it in Cosima's direction. What Cosima saw scared her. She saw herself as the blonde girl with brown eyes and perfect red lips. She was this girl. She was Morgana?

"That isn't me." Cosima looked at her hair away from the mirror. Her hair was red. Not blonde.

"You may have changed, but you have to find out who you were," the father said.

"Find yourself Morgana, my daughter." The mother's eyes filled with tears.

Then suddenly both fell to the ground. And they didn't get up again.

"Who am I!" Morgana roared. "Who was I?" Tears spilled down Cosima's cheek, a new experience for her.

The vision was erased.

The mother.

The father.

Gone.

Cosima saw the inside of the quinjet. She was at one corner, and Natasha was staring at her with a confused look on her face. As soon as Cosima looked more awake, Natasha went over to her. She wrapped an arm around her.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked.

Cosima didn't reply. She was deep in thought.

She had to find out who she was. This was her deepest nightmare. The question she had always avoided. She knew herself, but she knew she wasn't ready to find out who she was before all of this happened.

Cosima had to know who she was.

Was she Morgana?

Or was Wanda's mind-control completely fake?

Either way, Cosima was determined to find out everything about her former self, one way or another.

She was ready to face her past, one step at a time.