Rogue's eyes stung with a regretful fervour, not even as she splashed water onto her face could she disguise the hurt squeezing it's way to light. She had meant to do it, to tell you. But she couldn't. The news alone was too difficult, too painful, to scrape past her throat. A small pack rested against her leg in preparation.

But the cruelty of having you find out through a mutantphobic news outlet, or with the other kids suddenly treating your weirdly, instead of hearing what happened through word of mouth, hit the southern belle like a freight train.

Water from the sink had by now splashed all against the tiles, betraying your position as your boot hit a puddle. Rogue finally looked up from the bowl.