The Mask Slips

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the Baxter Building’s living quarters, but Sue Storm felt no warmth.

She sat quietly at the breakfast table, staring into her untouched cup of tea. Her son’s laughter echoed faintly from another room — a sound that should’ve filled her with comfort.

But it didn’t reach her.

Her mind was still tangled in the memory of the dream. The voice. That voice wasn’t just a figment of fear — it had been hers, and not hers.

She found herself glancing at her reflection in the steel of the microwave door. Her lips looked too red. Her eyes too shadowed. Her skin too pale.

She touched her cheek. When did I start looking like this?

Later that day, she left the building. She needed air — real air. She needed to feel like herself again.

Midday bled into early evening as she walked without purpose, winding through city streets until the sun kissed the horizon. The sky turned honey-gold behind her.

That’s when she saw her again.

The same woman from before — tall, dark, elegant. Raven. Dressed differently this time, in sleek black slacks and a high-collared wine-red blouse that caught the fading sunlight.

She stood leaning against the stone railing of a public fountain plaza, idly watching the water dance.

Sue hesitated. Her instinct was to turn around.

But the woman noticed her. And smiled.

“Funny seeing you again,” Raven said as Sue approached. “You look better out here. Less… boxed in.”

Sue managed a tight nod. “I don’t usually see you around here.”

“I drift,” the woman replied coolly. “I go where I’m needed.”

“Needed?” Sue asked, frowning.

Raven didn’t answer directly. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. The motion was deliberate — fluid — almost predatory in its grace.

“You seem tired,” Raven said. “Tired in the bones. Like something’s been tugging at your soul.”

Sue looked away, uncomfortable. “I’m fine.”

Raven stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough.

“When was the last time he made you feel seen?” she asked, her tone casual but pointed. “Not heard. Not respected. Seen. Desired.”

Sue’s hands twitched. She found herself again rubbing her thumb over her wedding band.

Raven’s eyes flicked to the gesture.

“I used to wear one of those,” she said. “Then I found someone who appreciated _all _of me. Not just the agreeable bits. Someone who didn’t ask me to shrink.”

Sue swallowed hard. “I’m not shrinking.”

“No,” Raven said, voice silky. “You’re transforming.”

The word hit like a pulse.

“You feel it, don’t you? The part of you clawing to the surface — the one you locked away. You thought she was evil. But maybe she’s just… honest.”

Sue blinked. “What did you say?”

Raven tilted her head. “We all wear masks, Sue. Some of us wear them so long, we forget which face is real.”

Before Sue could respond, the woman turned to leave.

But as she did, she added — almost carelessly, over her shoulder:

“He’s waiting. When you’re ready.”

And then she was gone.

That night, Sue stood at her bathroom mirror. She stared at her own face.

The lines around her eyes. The subtle curve of her mouth. The slight tilt in her brow.

She didn’t recognize the expression.

She wasn’t sure it was her own.

The bathroom light flickered. Just once.

She didn’t flinch.