Her wings are withered, useless, now; they were always delicate, and it's becoming clear that they could never have healed from Summers' blasts, not really.
'I'm still a mutant,' she says for the last time, voice dying in her throat, clutching at threads that can no longer support her weight.
Erik shakes his head, slow and mechanical beneath the weight of the helmet - what are you to us if you can't fly? - and he turns, and walks away.
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'I'm still a mutant,' she says for the last time, voice dying in her throat, clutching at threads that can no longer support her weight.
Erik shakes his head, slow and mechanical beneath the weight of the helmet - what are you to us if you can't fly? - and he turns, and walks away.
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