. ° ✧ ° . . ° ✧ °. ° ✧ °:¨·.·¨:
𝙅𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝘼𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙖 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠, daughter of the legendary 𝙏𝙤𝙣𝙮 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠, has always been surrounded by greatness. Raised within the powerful and vibrant world of the Avengers, Jules was taught to harness...
Her sleep had been restless—dreams filled with fire and fragments of memories she wished she could forget. The scent of lavender from her diffuser still lingered faintly in the air, but it wasn't enough to calm the turmoil she had been feeling since the USJ attack.
Suddenly, the smooth, familiar voice of Jarvis, her father's ever-loyal AI assistant, broke the silence, pulling her from the fog of sleep.
"Good morning, Miss Stark," Jarvis said, his tone as refined as ever. "It is currently 6:45 a.m., and your first class begins in approximately one hour and fifteen minutes."
Jules groaned, her body protesting against the idea of movement. She wasn't quite ready to deal with anything yet, let alone the day ahead. She blindly reached out from beneath her blankets, groping for her phone on the nightstand. Instead, her hand met the cool surface of her Stark glasses, and she let out a defeated sigh.
"Jarvis," she muttered, her voice muffled by her pillow, "you're supposed to make my mornings easier."
"I assure you, Miss Stark, that was my intention," Jarvis responded, sounding almost amused.
Jules slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess, sticking out in all directions, and her body felt like it had been run over by a truck after all the recent hero training and emotional stress. "Shall I prepare your morning coffee, Miss Stark?" Jarvis continued, unfazed by her reluctance.
"Yeah, yeah," Jules mumbled, rubbing her face. "Make it extra strong today, Jarvis."
"Of course, Miss. A double shot of espresso is already being brewed in the kitchen," Jarvis responded smoothly.
Jules rolled out of bed, her muscles still sore from the intense training they'd been doing at UA recently. Even though her classmates already knew who she was, there had been an unspoken pressure to perform, to live up to her name and family legacy. Not to mention the stress of the USJ incident a few days ago, when her mother, Elaine—the woman Jules had thought dead her entire life—revealed herself to be alive and wanted her dead.
Jules shuffled into the bathroom and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her long, red hair was tangled from sleep, and there were faint shadows under her eyes, remnants of late-night thinking sessions that often spiralled into worries about the Phoenix Force lurking inside her. The Phoenix stirred, as if sensing her thoughts, but it remained quiet for now, allowing her a rare moment of peace.
She splashed her face with cold water, the shock of it jolting her awake. Grabbing a towel, she patted her face dry before pulling her hair into a messy ponytail.
