The Queen needed to test a new colors in her newest acquisition. It was not a mere wish or a whim. She really needed to add that particular color to her brand new Parisian dress. It was a beautiful shade of purple, strong and vibrant. Exactly what she needed. And she could save it for her collection at the same time. After all, she knew how to duplicate colors.
This color in particular, the vibrant mix of blue and red, was painted in a graffiti on the mutant mansion. She had seen it the last time she was there, during the paintball game, and immediately fell in love with the violet hue. The graffiti itself was an indescribable drawing, probably a name. But it was impossible to read twisted and altered letters. It had no artistic value than any of her vandalism works.

To enter the mansion was easier than she imagined. She remembered the impenetrable walls around the whole place, strong and high walls. Also the automatic gates, too strong to bring them down and too high to climb. She even let her imagination to fill the gaps. Providing her with more challenges. Hidden traps around the perimeter, security cameras everywhere, an advanced alarm system. All told her that it would be harder, but for her fortune, she had not enjoyed the hospitality of the residents.
An anonymous voice answered over the communicator, and at the mention of a new discovered mutation and the promise of possibly wanting to study there, the boy opened the gates without any other questions. She jumped immediately inside, and ran away before someone went to the gate to pick up her for the promised tour around the mansion.

As the day was so beautiful, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky, so many students were in the vicinity of the mansion. Protected by the walls, but enjoying the nature enclosed there. Running around, reading a book or just chatting with friends. So many people gave her the perfect cover, no one would question because no one knew she was a stranger. Only Sam knew her, but she suspected she would not find him there. Surely he was in the library.
She get lost several times before finally finding the basketball court, despite its size it was difficult to find it since her vision was constantly interrupted by trees, and the mansion itself.
The basketball court was almost empty, just two mutants were playing at one of the hoop, while the other was empty. The weird calligraphy was painted in the nearest wall to the court.

The girl pressed her fingernail against the brick wall firmly, exactly where that tone of purple was locked. Inside a letter that appeared to be a cross. Or a T. The handwriting was really absurd. Impossible to read. Could it be a mutant code?
She concentrate her thoughts in one word, and to help keep the concentration she pronounce the name in a monotonous chant. Almost a whisper. "Purple." Again and again the word left her lips, almost forming a single infinite word "Purplepurplepurple." Soon, the color contained in that strange giant letter answered her prayers and slipped hastily into her nail. Leaving a dead gray where once there had been a living purple. Her nail wore triumphantly the stolen color, as if it were a cape. At the same time, her beautiful eyes were banned to observe that shade of purple. Now before her gaze, it was of a light gray.

"I call... Marcus."

"I want... Terrence."

It was down to Chase and Big League. They were always the last two left when it came to choosing basketball teams, and today was even worse-- there was an odd number of players, which meant that whoever was chose second would probably never touch the court. It wasn't like the older boys meant to do it, but as the little-more-than a dozen boys (and a girl or two) looked back, it was apparent why Chase and Big League were always the last chosen. They were tiny. Tiny, and weak.

"Big League," the team captain finally said, electing to make Chase the extra for the other team.

"Come on, Chase," the other captain called over, sounding exhausted already. The group of boys converged upon the ball-basket, a big metal crate containing a handful of soccer balls, basketballs, and a football here and there. They selected one of the better balls, and went over to the court.

"I don't get it, I'm always last," Chase grumbled to Big League.

"Go ask 'em what your position is," Big League said, "Ask 'em if you can start out on the court."

Chase nodded, and jogged over to the team captain.

"Can I start out playing?" Chase inquired.

"You can be a sub," the team captain corrected.

"I'm always the sub!" Chase protested, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he went to to sideline. He was always the sub, and he never went in. Chase stood with his back to the court, arms crossed. From there, he spied a familiar blonde girl, who was pointing at a wall and seemed to be murmuring to it.

It's the mean girl. Chase watched quietly, staring at the decorated part of the wall that she was pointing at. Someone scribbled on the wall with spray paint, and the mean girl was pointing this out. Chase shrugged, and was about to look away, when a flicker of motion redirected his attention back towards her. The color that had been up on the wall was drawing inward, and shrinknig towards her finger. Chase's feet had begun to subconsciously move themselves closer to the mean girl, so as to get a better look.

Even under the effects of selective blindness, the magically painted purple was beautiful. Bright and full of life. As opposed to the gray spot that corrupted the colorful graffiti. Seeing it, her heart sank and filled with sadness. "Cold and dead." She thought. Feeling a little guilty. Before the feeling take root on her soul, she shook her head trying to break away from that idea, and immediately turned her eyes from that nasty product of her witchcraft. To look once more at her fingernail and the purple that were merged into one, giving the impression that the nail was made of a small piece of painted brick.

With a huge smile, she turned to return from where she come. A triumphant return. But could barely walk on step ahead until something solid interposed in her way. She retreated a bit confused by the surprise staring full of fury at the child that intercepted her. "Watch were you walk." The girl cried perhaps in an attempt to use some of that anger and avoid drowning in it or perhaps just to hide he scared her. She filled her voice in all the power and authority that her mask of greatness, her expensive clothes and her money gave her. Then crossed her arms, raising a mental barrier in front of the attacker. She was prepared to wait all that was necessary for an apology from him.

But then her eyes finally recognized the little mutant and her face changed from anger to surprise, and then satisfaction. Her triumphant smile widened even more revealing her teeth in a smile full of malice. Her assumption was correct. The black jewels that were her eyes glittered with joy and plots. A look that could only mean one thing. "I know where you live. You are mine." Now she have confirmed it, he studied or lived there. At the mutant mansion. Predictable. "Were you a good boy, right? Because otherwise... " The demonic queen brazenly mocked him, pointing at her backpack to make it clear that his little friend Zappy was there with her. Always keeping her sour smile. There was no way to make that day better.
Without realizing it, she pointed with the nail that extracted the color, providing him an excellent opportunity to appreciate her stored color.

>> "Watch where you walk."

Chase stepped back, his eyes sweeping towards the ground in embarrassment. His curiosity had led him over, and she had nearly walked into him, not vice-versa. And now Chase was getting scolded. So she was still loud and mean, even at Xavier’s.

>> "Were you a good boy, right? Because otherwise... "

Chase looked at the girl, his eyes squinting in scrutiny, before he loudly exclaimed, “I saw you use your power! You’re here, at Xavier’s, and I saw you use your power!”

He knew what she was doing. She was threatening him with that… electrocution-thing. The thing that she had shot the man with. Chase didn’t like it in the least.

“I’ll tell the teachers that you have that,” Chase announced, “I’ll tell them and they’ll take it away from you.”

And then what would she have to threaten him with? Nothing, except for that purple nail that she was holding up to Chase’s face.

“So you stole the color from the wall?” Chase observed, staring at the girls fingernail.

Given the blatant accusation, her throat produced a malicious laugh that cut the air like a whip. Then it transformed into a smile. The situation was funny in parts and partly insulting. Amused by the hope that teachers could save him from her. Insulted by the idea that her, rich and powerful, shared her home with hundreds of homeless mutants. "Who do you think I am?" She asked finally moving her delicate lips. Trying to sound outraged. "I do not live in a community mansion. I have my own mansion with my own teachers. " She loved how it sounded. So she savored the words as if they were the most exquisite dish she ate. That statement always caused a mixture of envy and admiration in others. Pride in her. "I'm a visitor." She said, over-pronouncing the word "visitor". Her stays in the mansion would always be temporary.

She expected another threat, perhaps even a cry for help. But she never expected that question. The new implicit charges in the question puzzled her. She freeze for an instant. At some point she could not identify, her body in suspended animation began to work again. Blood flowed to her head, staining her beautiful skin of intense red. Instinctively she hid her hand behind her back, trying to protect her secret. Although she knew that it was too late.
Her mistake made the child forget about the threats... the fear dissipated.
Finally, knowing that she had no way out of the question without arousing suspicion, she confessed the truth. "Yes, I did." Humiliated and defeated. Putting her hand in front of her to show him again. Next time she should be more careful. One thing was to be discovered where everyone had powers, and a very different thing to be discovered in the dangerous streets. At the mercy of all. "Now we're even." They both knew the secret of the other. Neither was normal. She could steal the color of objects. He could steal people's appearance. Both were mutants. Both were thieves. That thought made her smile. Maybe they had more in common than she thought at first. "My name is Celeste." The child presented herself without forgetting the practiced curtsy.

>> "Who do you think I am? I do not live in a community mansion. I have my own mansion with my own teachers. I'm a visitor."

"They'll still take that thing from you," Chase retorted lamely, seeming rather underwhelmed by the girl's protest that she had her own mansion and her own teachers. That sounded like a pretty lonely existence to the nine-year-old. He laced his arms across his chest, to show that he was unimpressed, and not scared (even if he was a little anxious, and slightly intrigued).

Realization of what she'd done seemed to dawn on the girl, and she froze, her face flushing and her expression settling into one of surprise. Chase felt the corner of his mouth tilt upward in a smile, hesitantly.

>> "Yes, I did. Now we're even. My name is Celeste."

With her confession, Chase's grin grew more assured, and he openly stared at the purple nail.

"Why do you steal the colors?" Chase inquired, ever-inquisitive. Formalities were second-place, while curiosity held presidence over all.

"I'm Chase," he murmured back.

As a skilled and cunning fox from a fairy tale, she attempted to answer his question without giving him what he really wanted. Unfortunately not finding anything intelligent to reply, her attempt of showing skill and cunning turned into mere words from a whimsical girl. "Because I liked it." She said. Her voice clearly proud of the incomplete reply that responded perfectly to his question. For a brief moment the girl was pleased and determined to ignore him. She was losing a lot of her valuable time. She told herself. But she knew there was nothing to do in the rest of the day. All her extracurricular activities were distributed among the week, leaving weekends free.
While fervently trying to dodge the truth, she knew that the questions would never end. One question after another. She could almost see these question forming around his head. As bees. Bees forming thought bubbles. Like a comic.

Somewhat annoyed by the question, she introduced a hand in her backpack and began to search in the impossible deepness. Knowing the only way to answer all his questions at once was to show him. Finally she took out a sheet of paper, without lines. The lines impeded her magic as they acted as limits.
And although she hated to admit it, she was excited to show her powers for the first time. He was the first person that would see how she did it. Celeste felt great expectation, and fear, even when she knew it was impossible for her to fail. Carried away by these feelings, she found herself acting like a great magician in front of a large audience. And with great skill, she turned the sheet around, showing it to the public. Both sides totally white. That way the child could see that there was no trick. She was almost enjoying her pretentious game of being a magician as much as using her powers openly.
Continuing with her act, she held the paper carefully with her left hand and pressed her purple fingernail firmly against the delicate surface.

In a whisper, the initial call escaped from her lips. "Purple." To be followed by many other echoes produced by her vocal cords. The rhythmic chant was not necessary, but it was good for her concentration.
By focusing her thoughts on that word, the color of her nail spilled onto the paper moving in a perfect circle from the point of initial contact. Her purple fingernail did not changed at all, and only after the work was almost done and her singing almost end, the color began to left her nail. In less than ten seconds the sheet was covered completely. Purple over brick. The paper sheet seemed to be made of a thin slice of brick painted purple. It was like a high definition printing. The illusion was so good that she felt like touching the paper to sense if it felt like bricks.

>> "Because I liked it."

That was such a girl-answer. Chase folded his arms and inclined his head at her. She was determined to ignore him, Chase was in-turn pent on bothering her. She was right, the questions would be relentless. So she might as well just give up now and answer the nine-year-olds’ questions.

Celeste showed him a sheet of paper. Chase, though young, knew of magic tricks and watched closely. With all the flourishing and grandeur, it was easy to tell that Celeste was going to show him something. The girl pinched the paper, opened her mouth, and uttered the magic word.

>> "Purple."

“…purple?” Chase echoed. What about “alakazam”? What about “abracadabra”? What kind of magic words was “purple” anyways? Chase watched the paper closely, and as Celeste pinched it, the color from her nail spilled onto the paper. Not only did the color spill down, but it looked like a brick as well.

Chase gasped at the trick, his hands going to cover his mouth, as if to take his gasp back. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him amazed… but he was. That was so cool. He even dared to touch the paper, once it had been completely overcome with color, and miraculously, it still felt like paper.

“Cool,” Chase admitted with begrudging envy.

That act of witchcraft charmed not only the eyes of the little mutant but Celeste too. She was affected in a peculiar manner, making her smile. She smiled proudly. A beautiful smile. Genuine. With no trace of malice. Radiant. Since she had agreed that these powers were part of her, she loved them.
It was difficult to take the eyes off of that little work of art, and even Celeste struggled to stop admiring her work. Even when she had already seen that trick many times, she was still surprised by the excellent color and perfect illusion of texture. It was at the same time realistic and impossible.
The paper seemed solid and sturdy as a brick, and yet she managed to effortlessly cut a small irregular triangle from one corner...

Skillfully she took the sheet of paper between her fingers and deposited the small triangle in the palm of that same hand. Her mind expected the piece of paper to had the weight of a small piece of brick, but it was as light as before. And even when she pressed the nail of her index finger against the surface, she expect to encounter the resistance of the brick. Instead the paper crumpled under the pressure. Forming hundreds of lines that spread across the paper.
This time without uttering a word, the color almost instantly jumped to her nail. As it was a much smaller surface, she did not needed to maintain the concentration for more than one second. A moment of concentration. A pulse. Too easy to need the support of her voice.
Without paying more attention to the awful by-product, she dropped it to the ground, soon the wind would carry it away or someone else would raise it. She did not care. She already had the color in her possession one more time. And she had a full sheet to spare.

Not quite sure why she did it, she took a sharpie from her backpack and wrote a simple dedication for Chase. Celeste suspected it had something to do with that little organ filled with blood that kept her alive. Recently it was appearing between her and the world more frequently. But she was not used to these outbursts of empathy that made her seem almost human. Weak. And the fact that she saw other humans as more than slaves was extremely troubling. It was not expected from a queen. And at the same time, she felt that it was not that bad.
She left these ideas aside by shaking her head, her hair danced in response to the movement. While her eyes were fixed in the extremely stylized words, easy to read and beautiful to contemplate. While giving it to him. The letters seemed to float on the surface as if by magic. Black letters painted on the brick. "To Chase, from Celeste."

The older girl seemed rather pleased with herself, admiring her own work, while Chase quickly lost interest. Yes, it was really cool to look at, but did it do anything else. Or was it just pretty? Knowing girls, it was probably just pretty. The girl absorbed the color back into her fingernail, and dropped the paper to the ground. That was littering! Chase bent down, and picked the sheet of paper up quickly, crumpling it up and stuffing it into his pocket. That girl was a litter-bug!

Celeste pulled out another sheet of paper, depositing the color onto a separate sheet of paper She then jotted down a short note, and it was addressed to Chase, from her. She offered him the pretty piece of paper, and Chase accepted it hesitantly. It was kind of like giving a boy a flower. He didn’t really grasp the gesture of it. It was just pretty to look at, that was it—but Chase understood the typical response to any form of gift.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly, sounding a touch confused at the gesture. This was the same girl who was mean to him, who’d threatened him with a zappy-stick and all sorts of things. And now she was giving him a gift? Chase was just… totally baffled. Girls were just so weird.

Seeing how he picked up the paper in that helpful way, almost made her laugh out loud. She managed to contain the laugh, closing her lips tightly, squeezing tightly until the sensation disappeared. Only then, she left the pressure in relief and transformed her lips into a condescending smile.
Even where no one knew her, it was easy to find a new servant willing to do the dirty work. In this case, pick up her trash.
That attitude of service and the use of that false kindness while thanking her told the girl all she needed to know about that child. Attached to all the rules. And always doing things the right way even when the wrong way was easier and more rewarding. Probably he was dying to do bad things. But he would not. He was one of those people that produced in her a strange desire to beat them. Make them less cute. Less kind. She wanted to show him how bad life could be, but... What could be worse than having no home and being surrounded by mutants all the day? She ponder the question silently but without finding a satisfactory answer.

And despite all the elements against the mansion, it possessed a certain charm. It was not just the architecture that was the beauty center of the maze of trees. No. It was the people. Stunned she heard how the shouts and laughter of children made up a song that she did not know. A song of happiness? The children around her seemed not to mind the fact that none had a limousine, or all lack bodyguards to watch over them, or the unpleasant fact that probably they all wore clothes donated to charity.
They had nothing. So... What made them so happy?

And although the laughter produced a feeling like joy, she preferred to occupy her mind on something else. She chose a random question of many and tried to pronounce it as she was not interested in the answer. "Why are you in the mansion?" It was a question as valid as the others, but that particularly question caught her attention. Sam had named the mansion as a private school, and it was, yet the mansion also was known from housing homeless mutants. So that weird place was a mix between a private school and a orphanage. A rather unusual place to find happiness. Challenging her thoughts, the laughter around became louder. A choir that made fun of her.

Chase tucked the triangle into his pocket, his gaze following the gift until it was hidden. Curiosity satisfied, Chase contemplated returning to his group of friends. What if someone saw him, talking to a girl? Would that make him seen any less tough? Chase couldn’t afford that reputation. Celeste laughed, though Chase wasn’t sure why, but this was swallowed back.

>> "Why are you in the mansion?"

Chase shifted his gaze towards her, a swirl of colors simmering in his eyes as a mix of emotions churned within him. Why did she want to know? The little boy had no inclination to tell her. But he was inclined to offer some form of answer.

“I’m a mutant,” Chase said simply. He wasn’t a waif, he had a mother now, and the Mansion was his home, “I go to school here.”

That was, in a matchbox, why Chase was there. He’d spare her the story of running away and having parents that didn’t want him.

The girl expectantly waited for his reply. With swirl of emotion. She was sure that the little mutant would reveal her an unimaginable secret that could only be found in the mansion. A magic formula for happiness that only residents of the mansion known. Of course all her expectations vanished instantly while hearing his hollow response. The boy replied in a suspiciously vague way. Dodging her question, or rather the answer itself because his answer was correct, but not what Celeste expected. If thing were going to be like that, none of them would have more information about the other. Making that improvised date, just pointless. The timing of interest and courtesies was over to be replaced by a tense silence.

So the girl decided to get back before things got more uncomfortable. With all her education, she dedicated him a new bow, and continued her way to the entrance of the mansion. Wishing to avoid that cursed place at least for one month.