Author's Note: I came up with the plot idea. That's about it. Anything that you can recognize most definitely does not belong to me. Savvy?

I came up with this idea one day when I was getting mad about the lack of character development for Kitty Pryde. So I decided to rewrite her story, using a combination of all of her different versions (movie, cartoon, comic, etc.), and a little bit of my own flair. The result of a year's hard work is what you see before you. Enjoy!

A car zooms past me as I halt at the crosswalk. Even with the cane in my hand giving me the right-of-way, and the stop sign that I know is there, the vehicle goes on without pausing. I resist the urge to sigh, and continue on once I knew it was far away from me.

And I'm the blind one...

The dance class that I attend every Tuesday and Thursday was only two blocks from my home, and even though my parents are extremely overprotective they also both have jobs. Neither of one them could pick me up when class ends. So, I let my parents think that I ride home with a friend, while in reality I walk. I know that it's deceitful and wrong, but it's also the one bit of freedom that I have. I'm not about to give that up. Even if I have to lie to keep it.

Don't get me wrong, I love my parents. They've given me so much. Upon discovering that Teresa was unable to have children, Carmen suggested they look into adoption. That's how they found me. A lost, scared little girl who sat in the orphanage crib clutching a blanket and sucking her thumb. My eyes, Mom says whenever she tells the story, were the first thing that they noticed about me. Demon eyes, others had called them, but it was those same eyes that made the Pryde's want to adopt me.

It was the first time someone had even applied. Every other prospective set of parents ran the other way the second they saw my blood red irises.

You know, typically, it's said that you can't really remember anything that happened to you during your toddler years. But that day is fixed as clearly in my mind. When they entered the room I braced myself for the normal sound of the mother screaming and the father shouting at the director. But it never came. Instead, a hand touched me. I remember being surprised. No one had ever touched me before. Carmen scooped me into his arms and held me out to Theresa, and my life has never been the same since, thanks to them and the contacts. Now no one screams at me anymore, unless it's my dance teacher telling me to correct my posture.

I halt when my cane hits the side of a mail-box, and I slide my hand over it to double-check the numbers. 743. I was home. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 steps, turn right when you hit the rose bush, two steps up the stairs, and there's the door. I open it carefully, just in case my cat had decided to sleep in front of it again. The last time she did it, it didn't end well, and I cringe slightly at the memory.

I'm in luck this time. She's nowhere near the door.

Probably sleeping on my bed...my thoughts trail off as I realize someone was in the house with me. Immediately I am on my guard, and I switch the position of my cane so that I am holding it in a way it can be used as a weapon if need be.

"Kitty, what on earth are you doing?!"

Teresa's voice startles me out of my panic. "I heard voices." I hiss in annoyance. "I didn't know you'd be home early." I ignore the hand that she places on my shoulder, and straighten up quickly. "Why didn't you tell me you would be here when I got home? If you hadn't shouted when you did, I would've brained you."

"We wanted it to be a surprise Kitten." I turn my head toward Carmen. He takes my hand in his, and lays it on an arm. More specifically, on a strangers arm. "This is Emma Frost," he explains, "She is the headmistress of a school for the gifted that is interested in giving you a scholarship." She feels as cold as ice and as stiff as a board, and I quickly move my hand away.

"I like my school." I say heatedly. "And you promised you wouldn't try to send me to another blind school."

"This isn't a blind school Kitten," Teresa cuts in hurriedly. "But a school for intelligent children who simply cannot reach their full level of potential in other schools."

"I'm in college, Ma. I'm not stupid. But let me guess, in order to make her school more desirable to you, Ms. Frost has offered you fully equipped facilities for blind people. Railings everywhere, no stairs, large sidewalks, the latest technology, etc. etc."

Their silence is the only answer that I need. "Yep. I knew it." I drop my backpack on the floor and sigh. "Why don't you go into the living room and discuss my future without me. I'll be in my room." I can already feel the headache coming on, and I rub my eyes tiredly. No one makes any motion to stop me as I head towards the stairs.

Like I said, I love my folks. But they can be crazy sometimes. They don't think that my current school is good enough, or safe enough, so they are doing everything in their power to get me to move. Not happening. Not with what has been going on recently.

I can feel the pain settle in my forehead, and I groan slightly as it swiftly increases. "Not again." I gasp, grabbing onto the railing. I can hear the other three in the background, and it's clear to me that they don't notice the predicament that I am in. They are offering to show Ms. Frost the yard, which Teresa designed herself. I listen as Ms. Frost explains that she has a few more things to speak to them about before she leaves. Sighing, I slowly continue on my way.

By the time I reach my door I feel like a thousand elephants are having a party in my head, and I can barely make it to the bed before I collapse. I reach for the drawer in the nightstand, and pull out the prescription grade painkillers that my doctor gave me after the first few times this happened. I don't even bother getting up to get a drink, and swallow them dry, wincing as one of them catches slightly in my throat before sliding down.

"Uggg." I moan as I wait for the drugs to take affect. Even though they are the strongest ones I can take safely, they don't help, not really...I let my thoughts trail off as I resist the urge to scream. I swear, if I wasn't already blind, I wouldn't be able to see right now. I writhe in my bed slightly as I wait for the pain to recede. Twisting around in my sheets, I reach out for...something...anything to hold on to. The all of a sudden, I'm falling. It's happened before, me rolling off the bed because I can't concentrate on anything but the pain. But this time is different.

It seems to take forever for me to hit the ground, and I feel like I'm floating for a second. But once I make friends with the floor again, the pain finally begins to go away. Guess those meds work after all. I reach my hand up to my bedpost to pull myself up, only to find that it's not there. I must've rolled father than I thought. I crawl forward slowly, only to become confused when I don't bump into the bed. Or anything for that matter.

I am not the neatest person on the planet. I like clutter. Now, that might be surprising coming from a blind person, but I've never not been blind. My sight, or lack thereof has always been a part of who I am. I lived in a orphanage, and it didn't take me long to get used to running into things. I have books, clothes, technology, you name it, and it's probably on my floor. But that doesn't mean that I am a complete slob. I clean up once a week to keep Teresa from having a heart attack at all the possible dangerous situations I put myself in.

But back to the fact that I am clearly no longer in my room. The floor is hard beneath me, but that really tells me nothing since all of our floors are hardwood. I reach my hands out, searching for something, anything that could tell me where I am. Oh god, I hope I'm not in the basement. I grew slightly panicked, since no one ever comes down there and the door that opened into the kitchen pantry was most likely locked.

My right hand struck something, and as I ran my fingers over it I came to the realization that it was a television. And it wasn't just any television. It just so happened to be the television that was located in the family room, which was exactly one floor beneath my bedroom. Now, maybe I am completely crazy. Maybe I need an appointment at a mental health facility. But right then, as my fingers ran over the cool hardness of the edge of the TV, I could have sworn that I had just fallen through the floor.

Before I could completely freak out, I could hear voices approaching. By now my headache was completely gone, so I could easily discern that my parents and the cold headmistress were approaching. I stood quickly, stumbling slightly as I felt around for some excuse as to why I had suddenly appeared in the living room when I should be in my room resting. I knew Teresa would ask questions, and sure enough the minute she saw me she asked, "What are you doing down here Kitten? Does your head hurt worse? Should we call the doctor."

"I'm fine Ma," I hasten to reassure her. "My headache is gone now, and I was just...just...I was thirsty and came down for a glass of water."

"Then why are you in the living room?" she asks me shrewdly.

"Because..." I stutter, "I got my drink, and thought I might see if there were any new shows on the DVR before I start my homework."

She seems to accept my excuses, for which I am grateful. "Well," she says, "We were just showing Ms. Frost out." I nod, and hold out my hand for her to shake, shuddering when her cold skin touches mine. Drawing back, I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my pants.

"Thank you so much for your time Ms. Frost, we are so proud of our Kitten and so honored that out of thousands of children you chose her..." Teresa's voice fades away as she leads Ms. Frost to the door.

"You okay Kit-Kat?"

My head jerks slightly. I had forgotten about Carmen. "Yeah Dad. Just fine." He lays his hand on my arm, and I sigh. "Alright, so I'm more than a little grateful that she's gone. I hate it when schools come to interview me." He tenses slightly, and I turn my face to his in confusion. "Dad?"

He sighs. "There's no use in hiding it from you. There is another school coming to see you today."

I draw back slightly. "It's in New York, run by a man named Charles Xavier. He called earlier this week, and your mother answered the phone. I would have said no for you, but she got there first so..."

"Geez Dad, why don't you just sell me and get it over with?! You know that I don't want to leave."

"Yes, I do Kitten, but I want what is best for you. You've already got a business degree, and you're currently working on your masters. You're fourteen Kitten! Don't tell me that you don't get made fun of, because I know that you do. And pretty soon, at the rate you're going, there will be nothing left for you to learn. You're brilliant, and you know that. You're more than a community college girl." he says heatedly.

"My community college suits me just fine." I spit back.

"Look," he exclaims tiredly, "I've heard all of your protests before. Meet with these people, hear what they have to say, and then tell them no. It's a tad more polite than just saying no without even meeting them."

"What are we talking about?" Teresa asks airily as she walks back into the room with her usual flair.

"I was just telling Kitty about the other school that is coming today."

"Oh yes! Professor Xavier and I chatted on the phone, he sounds like a lovely man."

"I'm glad you like him so much." I cry bitterly. "Makes my decision so much easier."

She clearly doesn't pay attention to the sarcasm in my tone. "He's coming over soon. I've just put on a pot of tea, because he sounded British over the phone." I can't help but laugh.

"Yes, great idea Ma! Because automatically assuming he is British and therefore likes tea just from hearing his voice is not slightly racist at all."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Ma, come on. You can't honestly believe that all Britons like tea."

"Well, if he doesn't, then there is lemonade in the fridge."

I shake my head at her. She sounds like a schoolgirl having her first crush over for dinner. "Kitty." Carmen says sharply. I turn to him in confusion. What have I done now? "While your yoga pants and leotard might be slightly appropriate for greeting a female guest in your home, I doubt that they are fine for meeting with a man who is here to talk about his school."

As soon as he stops speaking I bolt for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The last thing I want is to be caught in my work-out clothes. I didn't even think about it when Ms. Frost was here.

The second I burst into my room I am at the wardrobe, digging through it for something suitable to wear. Teresa and I spent an entire weekend during the summer organizing my closet, and it's been easy to get dressed ever since. The majority of my clothes are black, with absolutely no bright colors whatsoever. At least, that's what my friends tell me. Can I help it if I like the way they feel?

At first I pull on a pantsuit, but then I realize that I am uncomfortable enough in this situation, and this Professor fellow might as well see me for who I really am if he wants me so bad. Ms. Frost saw me looking like a slightly professional dancer. Xavier won't. I pull on a black tee shirt and some matching skinny jeans, before slipping on some silver bracelets and earrings. The final touch are my favorite pair of converse, and by the time I am done I feel comfortable.

As I open the door to leave, the first thing I notice is that there is someone conversing with my parents. Annnnd they're here. Great. I make my way to the top of the stairs slowly, determined not to be spotted before I had a chance to analyze these newcomers. Voices can tell you a lot about people, and I wanted to know something about them before my parents thrust me on them. And here I am still reeling from the fact that I just fell through the floor. I don't have time to deal with this.

And you don't have to.

And now I'm hearing weird accented voices in my head. Forget the school, mother, just send me to the nearest insane asylum.

I assure you that you are not hearing voices.

So sayeth the voice in my head.

You're different, Katherine. You know that. There are others like you. I am one of them.

Uh huh. Sure. Prove it.

"I believe that is the young lady that we have come to see. Katherine? Will you not come down."

A British accent. Must be the person Teresa spoke to. Xavier. His voice was...gentle. Grandfatherly. And it sounded just like the voice in my head. Needless to say, I am wary trust it. But now I could feel eyes on me, and from the sounds of breathing I knew that more than one person had come with him. Turning around and running back to my room was clearly not an option, so I descended the stairs with as much dignity as a person just caught eaves dropping could possibly have. I keep my hand on the rail once I step into the hall.

"Kitten, there you are! I was just about to come get you!"

Translation: You were about to come stuff me into some horrible dress that makes me look and feel like a baby doll. And not in a good way. And seriously, using pet names in front of strangers? I'm sure we have talked about her not doing that at some point in my life.

"Kitty," Carmen cuts in before she can go any further, drawing me close to his side and pulling me forward. "This is Professor Xavier." In a low voice that no one else can hear he whispers, "He's in a wheelchair, so his hand is a little lower than what you are used to."

Taking the hint, I step forward and paste a smile on my face. "Hello." I say as I extend my hand out towards where I think he is. There is a small whirring sound, and I for the second time in as many hours I feel a hand that is not my parents touch me.

"Hello Kitty." I assure you, we mean you no harm.

Sure.

"These are some teachers and students of mine," he continues briskly, and I can feel him twist.

"Why don't you all introduce yourself to Katherine?"

"I can do you one better!" Carmen suddenly cuts in, "Kit, why don't you take these three down to the malt shop while your mother and I talk with the Professor? My treat." He grabs my arm and shoves my cane and a wad of cash into my hand.

And now I've got two choices. Refuse, make my family look like fools and get us all stuck in the house with the crazy man in the wheelchair, or leave my parents with said man and go off with three of his minions. We'll probably all be dead the moment I leave.

I promise you Kitty, we will not harm you or your parents.

How can I trust you? I don't even know you.

You're right. You don't. Just trust that I can clearly do nothing to your parents, who are both able-bodied adults, whereas I am paralyzed from the waist down.

You've got a point.

"Sure dad. See you in a few." I walk to the door as slowly as I possibly can, and I feel a sense of dread with every step I take.