Whispers

 
 
All she had left was photographs: moments snapped in time of a scowling St. John and his more photogenic friends. No, that wasn't right. Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, Kitty—they were all more willing to have their pictures taken, but John...

Kitty sighed and set the photos back in her box.

He took the best pictures.

She held onto the last one, the only one she had with him smiling on the front steps of the mansion, smiling for her. "Happy birthday, Kitten," he'd said before kissing her.

"Happy birthday," she whispered in her empty room. All she had was photographs.

 
 

to make the worlds anew

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cast, like old gods, to the earth and wrung

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the wings of heaven lie tattered and riven

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ring in the day the earth will rue

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from phoenix fires and death unsung

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from the bright'ning byres of flaming rebirth

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to walk in the falling of rain

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unwoven, unraveled, in mystery bidden

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