Ivette Midoriya absolutely hated heroes. The whole concept baffled her; how could those who declare themselves to be symbols of justice be so corrupted? How could society judge people based on their quirks and appearances? Fuck that. Ivette swore to...
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THE SMOKE AND FIRE of a burning house, of a cracked foundation, slowly began to dwindle down to a shimmer of fading light.
Sitting beside her mother, side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other once in a while, Ivette felt the pressure weighing down on her growing. The hospital they were at wasn't as crowded as they expected; nurses bustled across the various hallways, answering patients' calls or checking the required papers. The smell of antiseptic, bitter in its undertone, and the fragrance of soaps and air fresheners was pungent to Ivette's nose, violating her senses in a way not many things could. Revolting. Fake.
Artificial— everything here was utterly artificial. From the smell of lavender detergent to the superficial looks on unfamiliar faces. Ivette recognised broken facades from miles away; she could hear the thoughts of hundreds in her head, crackling like lightning, like a witch's amused hubris.
Sharp talons racked her brain and claws dug into the multitude of muscular layers, tearing it apart inch by inch, shred by shred.
Inko sat beside her. She offered Ivette her maternal comfort through her presence alone, although the shakiness of her body, the twitch in her eye and the bouncing of her knees didn't help to calm Ivette's racing mind.
"Ivette Midoriya?"
The girl in question rose her head.
The nurse smiled upon catching her eye. It was soft, reassuring. Ivette knew better.
She could hear how unbothered the lady was, her thoughts dragging through her mind painstakingly slow. "Doctor Yeager is ready for you. Follow me, please."
Ivette rose from her seat, her fingers shaking by her side. She hid them behind her back, walking to match her pace with that of the nurse's. Her mother trailed behind her. Unconsciously, whether it was an act to remember or flee, Ivette counted the route from the waiting room to the doctor's office: twenty three steps forward, one right turn, ten steps more, another right turn, one short corridor and the second door on the left.
The nurse gently knocked on the wooden surface. A voice called, "Come in."
Wow.
What. A. Man.
"Ivette Midoriya, right?" A blinding smile, one crinkled with age and experience. Ivette nodded. "How can I help you today?"
Ivette looked at her mother. They both took a seat in the room, her mother in the corner and she before the doctor's desk. The plush leather of the wheeled chair pressed against her lower back, offering a comfort otherwise unknown.
"Ah, we– uh, came here to discuss my daughter's quirk." Inko's grip on her bag was tight. She held it close to her body, using the strap as an object to ground her.
