Title: How Do You See Me?
Summary: A painter paints Rogue as he sees her. Then he paints Logan
as he sees him. Will finding out the truth of what they are tear
Dedication: To victoria p., who inspired me with her fiction, and
Crystalline Dreamer, my muse. She gave me this wonderful idea in a
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; save Atruis and the way I perceive the
Archiving: Just ask, and ye shall receive.
Author's Notes: If you hate it, not my problem. I was just trying to
put into words what I perceived the characters to be, and trying to
find phrases to describe the visions that are painted so vividly in
Feedback: Is a very good thing. Be a nice person to me, and I'll
He painted me.
I knew he would.
I begged and pleaded with him, but he was afraid to show me what I
Now I know how he sees me.
And I know how he sees Logan.
How can we be so different, yet so in love? Atruis assures me that
it will not last. Our souls are forever in a war that we have no
control over. It is impossible to fall in love. Our souls will
eventually collide, and only one will walk away.
" started Atruis, a pained light in his eye. "I can't
paint you. It would be too painful."
"Painful for who?" She demanded, her voice low and soft, running over
him like a pale honey, a touch of gold, and something that he
"Painful for all of us. Especially you and Logan. I can't let them
see what you are. It would be not only painful, but also dangerous.
I'm sorry, I can't put you in that danger." His voice was a deep
baritone, reaching down into one's soul and soothing tangled
emotions, old fears, and broken dreams.
"What danger would that be? Atruis, I just want you to paint me as
you see me. Your mutation is to let you see the truth. I just want
to know the truth about myself. I'll give you anything. Please?"
Her green eyes were large and pleading. She wanted to know who she
was. Not Rogue, but Marie. She just wanted to know what her spirit
was. What she would manifest herself as after her heart wore out and
her body lay cold in a box, six feet under dark, dank, solid earth.
He was quiet for a few moments. Atruis had been bred to have common
sense and good judgment. If he were to do as Rogue wished, he would
be going against his better judgment. But she deserved to see
herself for what she was, what she would become. What she always had
"Alright. I'll do it." Atruis had a dim light in his eyes, and his
voice was heavy and lined with doubt, but he would help her. She
deserved that much at least.
Now he faced his canvas, paints of all shades and colors surrounded
him. It was a difficult decision to make, what shades to use for
what. He wanted to bring out the vibrant green of her eyes, the rich
brown of her mane, and the pearly white of her coat. And the horn,
the horn had to be perfect. It represented her innocence, peace, and
He stared down at the gold leaf, lying patently in clear plastic,
waiting to be applied to the bland cream of the canvas. It would
shine with all the color and vibrancy of the sun itself.
Atruis was a kind man, and what he had seen when he dreamt of Rogue
Marie was the most twistedly fascinating idea. She, herself, was so
pure and vibrant that it almost hurt to look into her brilliance.
But there were shadows all around. Waiting. For the perfect
opportunity to strike down her brilliance, or at least dull it to an
It was the most horrifying experience he had ever gone through in his
life. He had already painted portraits of several people since he
had been there in his short six months.
The professor had been an elemental spirit, all knowing and all-
powerful. He had been gathering mutants and humans up in his clear
arms. He had kept them all safe and warm in his comforting
presence. It hung in his office, in the area near his desk, where
all could admire its stunning realty.
Jean had been a great red flower, blossoming in a small clearing in a
dark patch of foreboding woods. A single ray of light had shone down
upon her brilliance, signifying her hope and brightness. He had
painted it with soft tones and short brush strokes. It hung her and
her husband's room, right next to his, over their bed.
Scotts painting was of a glorious stallion, running through the
desert with his band of horses. Scott was a large stallion with
brilliant ruby eyes. His coat was a glistening brown. His mane was
silky and flying free, his tail held up in a large arc, like a flag.
He was leading his horses, like the fearless leader that he was
perceived to be.
He had painted no more because he had dreamed no more. He had
dreamed recently of Rogue, and then Logan. The dreams had disturbed
him greatly. Rogue was an innocent unicorn, while Logan a fiery
dragon. It was cosmic law that dragons and unicorns were never to
love or even become allies with one another. Unicorns represented
the ultimate virtue, while dragons represented the ultimate sin. It
was impossible for them to live together.
He did not want to paint either portrait, because then he would have
to paint the other. He wanted both Rogue and the Wolverine to be
happy and safe. He did not want them to worry about their souls, be
he realized that they would never be in peace until they faced the
reality that their souls would collide in a light so brilliant and
hot, that every creature would burn. Only one could walk away from
such an incident. In the case of Rogue and Logan, it would be evil
against goodness. It was easier to follow the path of evil, so more
people fell prey to that. But a large handful realized the true
path, and they were the unicorn's followers.
So Atruis started to paint.
Atruis painted us.
Marie and I.
She was a pure white unicorn with a gold horn, brown mane, and large
green eyes. She was rearing in a pool of shadows, all of them
pulling at her, trying to pull her down. It was supposed to be
Marie, drowning in the other minds that invaded her.
I was a red dragon. Atruis painted what came to him in his dream. I
can't say that I'm thankful for that.
I was a ruby red dragon. My wings were outstretched, and my scales
seemed to be on fire. I was flying above a herd of unicorns, and I
was herding them towards a large fiery pit. I knew that the white
creatures would burn alive in the pits of hell. Marie had looked
horrified at my painting.
When Atruis had announced what we were, everyone had gasped. No one
wanted to believe that I was sin and Rogue was virtue. That we would
collide, and one of us would kill the other. Only one of us was
allowed to walk away, he said. Only one.
The question is, which one is stronger than love?
Evil, or Virtue?
This is just the first in a series, and the next two are:
How Do You Dream of Me?
How Do You Perceive Me?