In other circumstances, it wouldn't have been that unusual of a morning; Layla often woke before Jamie, especially when the school semester had let out, but these were, decidedly, not other circumstances. The boy she held was just that: a boy, one without any memories of the island upon which they woke, nor the girl who held him. As he drifted awake, liking the feel of fingers in his hair, he cracked open one bleary eye, and shifted a little to get more comfortable, dimly realizing, in that place between dreaming and reality, that this was not his bed, but not yet able to work up the concern such a fact should inspire.
Very suddenly, young Jamie Madrox was aware that something was wrong. He'd not awoken next to his mother; for one, his mother's name was Joan, not Layla, and she sounded much older than the girlish voice that had answered. He moved away from the body pressed at his back with a start, getting tangled in a mess of sheets as he turned to face the girl -- Layla.
He'd never seen a girl before, at least not in person, but then, their farm never saw many visitors at all. The experience was a novel one, and awe momentarily overrode fear, his eyes widening as he stared at her.
Comments 14
In a small voice, he asked, "Mom?"
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He'd never seen a girl before, at least not in person, but then, their farm never saw many visitors at all. The experience was a novel one, and awe momentarily overrode fear, his eyes widening as he stared at her.
"Who are you?"
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