"This is the beginning of a long journey for you and me."
"For our people to be the strongest in our Galaxy, we had to weed out our weak ones."
"No one is going to pull their punches. This isn't like the cartoons you watch on Saturday morning. The p...
SPIDER-MAN AND ATOM ROGUE: HOMECOMING P12 | DON'T LET ME BE GONE
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Four days.
Just 96 hours until Mira Rohan finally managed to escape the worst age of her life. In just four days she would be 15, able to start fresh hopefully leaving behind all of the trauma that had taunted her for the past year. 14 hadn't been all bad, there was always some good memory she could latch onto, like Michelle taking her axe-throwing, Ned lecturing her about how much better Batman was than Superman, Sammy's visits from St Louis and Peter's birthday when they had all gone to Coney Island. Light within the darkness. Yet, despite that glowing orb of goodness, there was so much hell surrounding 14.
Ripping at her soul.
She had been 14 when her father betrayed this world. She had been 14 when she lost 6 of the people closest to her who had formed a core unit of her found family.
She had been 14 when she died.
14 when she learned that her father hadn't been the first Renterian sent to earth, 14 the day Peter Parker had lied blatantly to her face for the very first time.
Mira couldn't count down the days fast enough.
—She hoped 15 was better than 14.
She hoped she didn't spend hours unable to sleep thanks to the nightmares, didn't spend her waking moments with her father's voice whispering in her ear, repeatedly telling her that she was destined to become a murderer just like him.
With her alarm clock still going off on the nightstand beside her, Mira just slammed her fist out, completely shattering the clock into a million pieces, silencing the ringing in an instant, eyes never drifting away from the glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling.
Mirroring Asteria.
Her father's galaxy.
No matter where she looked, there was always a piece of her father lingering inside of her heart. A charm on her bracelet, the first baseball glove he had given her, the original navy suit hanging in her closest, the stars of his home, his face in her line of vision. All of it was constant reminders, never granting her a moment of peace. Marcus had marked her soul in a way that couldn't be fixed. She couldn't look into a mirror without seeing him or hearing his voice whispering in her ear.
Marcus had made her weak, had turned her inside out, made her pathetic, and beaten her down, leaving her slipping away from herself.
The Ghost of Marcus Rohan was so close yet so far, ripping at her flesh from deep down inside of her, leaving the pieces that felt like her, cracking into shards.
Pushing up, she ran her hands through her hair, a shaky breath escaping her as her eyes lingered on her closest.
A string pulling at her.
She was weak.
Missing her dad made her weak.
His ghost still controlled her no matter how hard she tried to shove him down.
Mira felt like she was torn between two different personalities ever since St Louis. The human side of her relished being the musician, the smarty pants and the jock, while the other side was stuck dangling on the line between hero and killer. Unsure of which side she would land on. Both versions of her were blurry, both not feeling complete, out of reach from making her feel whole.
