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Her Sanctuary

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Hers is not a feral mutation. Nor is it the sort of wide-ranging metamorph talent that Mystique has. Sometimes, when she bothers to think about it, she wonders if it's something of both. Most days, though, she doesn't think about it. Doesn't think much beyond basking in the sun, and the next meal her keepers will bring, and maybe playing with the variety of toys left in her enclosure. It's not as if the humans know any better than to assume she is what she appears to be.

She'd once been taken from her sanctuary by another mutant. By a man who controlled metal and his feral employee. The man, she could forgive, because he thought he was doing the right thing to give her a home where she's not on display to the public as an impressively intelligent big cat.

The feral, though, she'd not forgiven.

Nor, unfortunately, had she managed to kill him, though his skull had yielded satisfactorily to her canines. She'd left him unconscious, and fled the facility. Stalked and killed a deer in the wild, though she prefers her meals delivered already dead and butchered. Found her way into a more civilized area, and let herself be rescued.

Safely in a park once more, well-fed and pampered. Always assumed to be something she isn't, and she wishes she truly were. At least she can pretend, and she can have the safety she's always wanted.