Rogue

As a sort of concession to circumstance, Rogue hadn't spent much time alone, lately. She was always with someone, or at practice or in the rec room. She didn't even sleep in her room anymore, though most of her things were still there. It was the smarter way to play it, and she was mostly used to it after life at the mansion, but her greatest option for being alone was gone, and she was missing it more than ever.

Having passed over a truly spiteful number of books on aviation and a few issues of Superman, she'd slipped A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court off the shelf and curled up in the corner of the sofa with it. She'd read it when she was first at Xavier's, something the Professor had suggested she'd like. She'd been skeptical. And wrong.

She only made it a few chapters. The jukebox was quiet, no one was watching a film reel. In fact, she was totally unaware of anyone else in the room. It probably should have been indicative of how out of it she was, but she'd missed that, too. She fell asleep, book on the cushion beside her, arms curled across her stomach and forehead tilted against the back of the couch. It was the deepest she'd slept in days.