Written and Illustrated by Tapestry.

"Hah! My dear, dedicated doctor Reyes, I do believe you are 'it'!"

Cecilia Reyes wiped the snow from her eyes, smiling ferally at her "teammate" Hank McCoy.

"Oh, you'll pay for that, McCoy..." she replied, grinning ferally. "After I'm done with you you'll be picking snow from that blue hide of yours for a month!"

A volley of snowballs was thrown at the blue-furred mutant, who dodged (most of them) with ridiculous ease. The thrower frowned and scooped up another handful of snow in her hands, brown eyes narrowed in concentration behind the lenses of her glasses. She hadn't started this battle, but it was obvious she intended to finish it.

Green eyes watched the two doctors scramble around in the new-fallen snow, pelting each other with snowballs. The hate-filled emerald orbs narrowed in disgust. These were up-world healers? Better to lie bleeding to death in the gutter than ask for their services.

Marrow drew back into the woods, lips curled in a sneer. Such idiots, wasting their time and energy "coexisting" with humans when they could be so much more. Didn't they know that the humans would slay them if given a chance? Didn't they see that the humans must be paid back for the pain and anguish they had inflicted on mutants..?

Enraged shouts mingled with peals of laughter floated through the air, pursuing her as she headed deeper into the woods. What a waste of time, and yet...

No. She would not indulge in whatever stupid little game the healers were playing. She didn't have time for that. She had never had time for that, not even when she had been a child and such a thing was expected. She was beyond that.

Marrow tilted her head, listening. Quiet. The woods were quiet. Just the way she liked it.

She crouched in the bushes for moment, running a hand through her short, maroon hair. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply as the wind rushed towards her face, crisp and bitterly cold. There -- just a touch of fresh earth and sunlight, life... the scent she was searching for.

Storm.

The leader of the X-Men, leader of the Morlocks, Ororo Munroe. The Windrider, the Bright One. The murderer.

Marrow's jaw tightened as she recalled the feeling of Storm's hand violently forcing its way through her sternum, snapping bones, rending flesh, clutching at her very heart--

Nothing. Darkness. The void.

And then pain. A dull, throbbing pain in her empty chest as something new crept into existence -- a heart of bone, brought into being by the strength of her hatred, of her fierce determination to live... she could still taste the blood and bile in the back of her throat, remember the trembling of her limbs as she lifted herself from the pool of her own heartblood and staggered away, deeper into the tunnels, to rest and heal. To nurse her hatred until it consumed her, to focus on the task before her...

A smile crept across Marrow's lips. The wind-witch was probably "meditating" -- communing with the earth, as she called it. Truly, Storm's devotion to her "mother" were sickening beyond words. How could she believe in a goddess? All the gods were dead. There was only darkness and rage and blood... and Marrow had them all.

Marrow licked her lips and skulked towards the Windrider's scent, moving in a manner that ensured complete and utter silence, evoking not even the crunch of the snow beneath her boots. Pretty-pretty Storm would never know what hit her.

Coexistence, Marrow thought with disdain. What a crock. With people like Storm ruling this "equal" world? Why should she want to be part of such a futile dream in the first place? And what would oh-so-perfect Storm do, anyway? Weed out all the ugly mutants, all the mutants who did not wish to live as she wished, and make them go away to the Darkplace she had cast Marrow into? Oh, a very pretty dream, that -- the dream that destroyed individuality so they could all live in peace and harmony with the humans who had hunted and killed them from the start. Who wanted a future like that? Not Marrow.

She remembered once, long, long ago, when she had admired Storm and her ideals. It had been the night when Storm took the leadership of the Morlocks from Callisto by right of combat, when Marrow had been a child. Storm had stood there on the platform, an ebony angel with hair of spun platinum, ivory eyes flashing as she made her decree. Live in peace with the upworlders, she had said. Do not kidnap their children, she had said. And, above all, do not kill them. So much had been taken, and so little returned. But she had stood there, truly the image of a goddess, and somehow forced them to obey. Marrow had stood amongst the crowd, wide-eyed and awestruck at the tall, bright, beautiful woman who had defeated their one-time leader in single combat, and felt her innocent heart soar with hope. Here was someone who could make things right. Someone who would leader her people out of the darkness and into the light. For the first time in years, hope had blossomed...

...and withered.

After month after month of hope and anticipation it had become obvious that Storm would do nothing to help the Morlocks. It was rare that she deigned to grace their humble tunnels with her presence at all, let alone actually make an effort to talk to them. From time to time other X-Men had visited, but they hadn't helped either. Marrow had sometimes fantasized about taking up Storm's offer to take any willing Morlocks to the Big House -- the school. But she had been too afraid to ask the goddess -- too ashamed to approach the beautiful warrior, knowing that she was awkward and ugly.

And then the Marauders and the blood and the terror had come, and it had been too late.

On that day her hopes and dreams had been turned to dust. Friend after friend slaughtered, the tunnels running red with blood. And screams, so many screams, going on and on... and the help too little far, far too late.

And the black, unyielding rage kindling within her, the impotent fury which drove her onwards, compelling her to survive, and wait, and then wreak vengeance on those who had wronged her and hers...

The young Morlock crawled through the snow until she reached a small clearing. There, as she had predicted, sat Storm. The wind-witch was seated cross- legged in the middle of the clearing, eyes closed. Marrow wondered if she was asleep, and if it would matter if she was.

I could take her, Marrow thought, narrowing her eyes and focusing on Storm's jugular vein. I could take her any time, any place. And there is nothing she and the other pretty ones can do to stop me.

Marrow reached behind her back, grasping one of the knobby bones protruding from her spine. Spinal bones were the most painful to extract, but it was the only one large enough to serve her purpose. Taking a firm grip on the bone, Marrow pulled up and out, straining.

She allowed herself a soft, brief hiss of pain. She felt the bone crack as it broke away from her spine, sending little slivers of itself into the surrounding skin. As a result, what Marrow finally succeeded in removing was a jagged, blood-smeared dagger, not quite up to par with her usual creations.

Not ready to pop... quite yet, was it? she thought as she shifted her weight and winced. Difficult angle, too. But if it takes care of Storm the pain will have been worth it.

Taking a firm grip on the bone, Marrow narrowed her eyes. She could take Storm any time, any where. Why not now?

But somehow it did not feel... right. This was not the Morlock way. It should not happen like this -- not because she had seen an opening and taken it, like a coward. There was no glory, no honor, no vengeance in that.

She would never see it coming, Marrow thought to herself. And I want her to see it coming. I want her to know that she is a failure, I want her to shriek and cry and beg me for mercy -- and I want to make her death long and slow. A dagger to the throat is too quick, too clean, for the likes of her. I want to mar that pretty face, slice that perfect skin. Want to make her scream. Want her to pay for what she's done to us...

Marrow shook her head in disgust and tossed the dagger aside into a snowbank. The Windchaser wasn't worth it. Not now. Marrow could indeed take her anywhere, any time -- and that was all she needed to know.

For now.

She crept away from Storm as silently as she had come, still feeling the throb of the prematurely removed bone near the small of her back. Something hot and liquid oozed down her back -- blood. The bone shards had cut her even deeper than she had thought.

It'll heal, she thought, flinching as an unseen branch scraped across the wound. Pain makes me strong. Morlocks thrive on pain.

But... it does hurt...

Then again, what could she do about it? The healers were busy playing with each other in the snow, and none of the other upworlders would help.

Not that she needed their help, of course. That wasn't it at all.

Marrow stalked off to the Mansion, rubbing her back. She let herself in the side door and stepped into the kitchen, heedless of the melting snow clinging to her feet. She paused in front of the refrigerator, aware she was hungry. After looking around warily for a minute Marrow yanked open the 'fridge door and snatched a loaf of bread and a half-empty bag of ham as well as a plate of cold sausages that had survived breakfast. Smiling, Marrow seated herself at the table and ripped open the bag of ham, devouring the contents ravenously.

Good food. So much better than the moldy slop the old ones could find for us in the tunnels. Much more of it, too. Tastes so good I could eat all day.

"Ag, hey, Marrow, grabbin' a hap of kos?"

Marrow looked up with a start to see Maggott standing in the doorway, his two slugs, Eany and Meeny, slithering around his shoulders. She scowled at him.

"You sound like you're about to choke, Slug," she snapped, abandoning the ham and ripping into the bread with zeal. "Speak English."

Maggott shrugged and collapsed into the chair opposite her, crossing his arms behind his head carelessly as he peered at her through his mirror shades. Marrow glared at him but continued eating, hoping that if she ignored him he'd go away. Her hopes, as usual, were in vain.

"So, Marrow, what've you been up to, hey?" he inquired, tilting his head to one side. "You gave us a groot skrik there when you fought Logan the other day. How're you feeling?"

"Annoyed," Marrow retorted, pausing just long enough to give him a good glare. "Get away from me, blueskin. I'm eating."

Maggott hesitated as one of his slugs crawled off his shoulder and helped itself to the salt shaker. Marrow snorted derisively and started on the sausages.

Why does he keep doing this? she wondered, idly slapping away the slug when it came a little too close to her plate. Can't he get it through his sunbaked head that I don't want his help?

"Uh, Marrow, doll?" Maggott said after a moment, leaning to the left in his chair and fixing his eyes on the floor.

"What?" Marrow snapped, sucking the grease from her fingers.

"You're bleeding all over the tiles, you know that?"

Marrow flashed her teeth. "Who says it's my blood, Slug?" she inquired sweetly. "And anyway, the healers are outside indulging in their little snowplay. Why don't you do us both a favor and join them?"

Maggott seemed to have run out of things to say, but his staring was getting on Marrow's nerves. Finally she gave up and left, taking the plate of sausages with her. At least he wasn't -- ahem -- "hitting on her", as he was with all the other women in the Mansion, but his incessant offers for assistance and tangible pity were becoming irritating. She was coming to dislike him almost as much as she did the Windrider.

Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered. They obviously didn't want her here, and she did not want to be here. What did these upworlders have to offer her, anyway?

Train. Learn. Live. That was what the old one, Wolverine, had told her before she had shoved a bone through his throat. That was what her mentor Callisto had ordered her to do even as she herself lay dying in the darkness of the Morlock tunnels. Easy enough to say, but quite a different thing altogether to do.

Marrow retreated to her haven, the basement. Not surprising that this was the place she felt most at home in -- this dark, barren basement, devoid of any sort of ornamentation save what she herself had scrounged. A rotting box for a chair here, a half-melted candle stump there -- and a pile of musty rags for bedding.

Naturally, all the pretty mutants had been bought mattresses immediately. No one had offered one to her, and she would not have accepted it if they had. The floor had always been good enough for her, and she was no delicate above-world flower who would bruise just by thinking about going a night without the proper bedding. Aside from that the cavernous basement was bare, save for a few keepsakes...

Marrow sat down in the corner, wincing as she leaned against the wall and agitated her afflicted back. With a noiseless sigh she dug beneath her bedding and removed the tiny doll she had stitched together with spare bits of cloth and twine. A tiny winged figure in red and white with a shock of blond "hair"... her Angel. Her good luck charm, created when the memory was still fresh in her mind and then later re-worked to fit the reality when necessary. She held the tiny object to her breast and hugged it tightly, as she had when she was young. She remembered his scent still, even after all these years -- fresh, sweet, clean and, somehow... bright.

I remember. He smelled of freedom and life -- not of blood and shadows, like the butchers. Flying on silver wings, coming to save us, save us all... or die trying.

He nearly had, too, she knew. Had almost perished in the tunnels, mounted on a tunnel wall like a butterfly with his wings crushed and broken. She remembered everything about That Day -- the day when her life had been forever changed.

Reaching deeper under the bedding she brought out her other keepsakes -- the fletchettes. Glistening silver slivers of destruction she had retrieved from any number of sites, jealously guarded and squirreled away for times of need. They were as much a treasured part of her as the tiny doll was, used only as a last resort for instances when her bones would not work. She hoarded them for emergencies, knowing there would be no more where they had come from now that He had been healed and reborn.

She pulled away from the wall suddenly, her musings interrupted as her nostrils were struck with the coppery-sweet odor of blood. Frowning, she touched her fingers to the wall cautiously and pulled them away sticky.

Still bleeding? she thought, almost impressed with herself. It was very rare that she injured herself while extracting her bones, but it did happen. Rarely was it this severe, though...

Bloodtime shouldn't be this long. Something's wrong.

Gingerly, she touched that hard-to-reach section of her back. Her fingers encountered a damp, razor-sharp protrusion that had worked its way into her skin just beside her shoulderblade, and which was continuing to work its way in still. She tried to twist around enough to seize ahold of it, but it was too slippery. Growling in frustration, Marrow continued to struggle with it for a few more seconds before giving up the fight. There looked to be several more such splinters imbedded in her back, and she had just made the situation worse. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed to treat her wound. There was a difference between pride and stupidity, and Marrow very well knew it. Callisto had made sure of that.

Carefully replacing the fletchettes and the doll, Marrow got to her feet and wiped her bloody hand on her leggings as she headed back upstairs. The X-Men had, at least, mustered enough funds to replenish their infirmary. If she had the time she might even be able to pilfer some medicines for Callisto. The medical supplies she had stolen from Cecilia were of some help, and the books had done a great deal in the way of helping her provide a... what was the word..? "Prognosis," that was it. She silently blessed Callisto for teaching her to read -- just as the upworlder books she had discovered as a child had filled her sleeptime with dreams, so too had the books of healing opened her eyes to a whole other world.

Never really thought I could learn how to fix people... why would I need to? Always been happier as the blooder. But now Callisto is the one who needs fixing... so guess I have to learn.

The healing books were filled with big words she had to sound out -- long, technical- sounding words that she did not understand. She had found an old dictionary somewhere, but it did little in the way of helping. There were pictures, though -- pictures of the body and its innards which fascinated her. She had always been fascinated by new things, and the books would have entranced her had the circumstances not been so dire. Callisto had always praised her for being so curious, so intelligent -- more so, she had said, than any of the other younglings. Marrow had flushed with pride at that, once. Callisto had always told them they had to be smarter as well as stronger than their enemies, and Marrow knew she had been the smartest. That was why she had ended up leading Gene Nation in the revolt against the sundwellers. That was why she was still alive.

These mutants, the sundwellers, she thought as she poked her head out the basement door, casting a suspicious glance around her before continuing, They've become lazy. Soft. Their precious dream has dulled whatever wits they once possessed. Pretty ideals hiding ugly truth -- like always.

She paused for a moment, noting the voices nearby. There was the one that had brought her here -- Bobby Drake, the Iceman. A foolish one, that -- thought everything was a joke, anything could be downplayed. He was talking to the old one, the fighter, Wolverine. He sounded uncomfortable, which suited Marrow just fine. Even as she listened the conversation came to a stiff end, and Drake stalked off somewhere. Shrugging, Marrow strode confidently across the floor and past the gaping hole which had been blasted through the middle of the Mansion the very first day she had come here. She ignored it, headed to the stairs, and was down to the "hidden" part of the Institute in no time flat without having to cross any of the other occupants.

She headed into the infirmary, scratching at her cheekbone. There would be a "growth" there by nightfall, she was certain of it. Her face ached -- but then, so did the rest of her. There was nothing to be done about it, so she simply tried to ignore it and get on with her task.

Without further ado Marrow stripped off her top, which, considering it was punctured with bones, was no easy task. She was surprised but not truly alarmed to discover that the back half was black with blood.

Small wonder, too. From a neck-twisting glance in a nearby mirror she was able to tell that there were at least half a dozen slivers thoroughly imbedded in her back. Between the pain of the bone's removal and the dull, constant ache that she had learned to endure, the relatively smaller pain of the slivers had gone almost unnoticed despite the resulting blood loss.

Marrow shivered as a blast of cold air flooded into the infirmary, courtesy of the gaping hole in the roof. She hadn't been cold outside, but she had been wearing a bit more then, not to mention being too preoccupied to care. Cursing, she reached for one of the flimsy cloth smocks with the ridiculous open backs that the healers always kept in stock. It wasn't much, but it was more than she had now.

She angled her back towards the mirror and began to give herself neck cramps trying to reach the splinters with her bare hands and failing. She was about to give up when someone dropped through the roof in a ball of flame.

"Someone please tell me Ah remembered to get the dang aspirin," Sam Guthrie muttered as the flame-like energy which encased him faded to nothingness. Marrow almost smiled. Here was one upworlder she did like.

Sort of, anyway.

"So we meet again, hayseed," she purred, grinning. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock before entering?"

Sam almost jumped right back into the air there and then. He whirled around to face her, slim, honest face flushed with embarrassment and surprise, his long blond hair whirling. He took one look at what she was (or was not) wearing and his eyes immediately tripled their size.

"Uh, h-hi Marrow," he stammered, looking as if he desperately wanted to get out of their quickly. "What're y-you doing down here?"

"Just taking care of a few... protuberances," she replied, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. "Care to join me?"

"Um, Ah'd really rather--"

"Splinters, boy. In my back -- see?" She turned around to show him her bleeding back, which was finally beginning to scab over. "The problem is in a hard- to-reach spot."

"Oh. Ahem. Well then..." Marrow snickered as she watched him inflate with gallantry, "When ya put it that way, sure Ah'll help ya. Hang on, let me find the disinfectant and tweezers..."

Marrow laughed inwardly as the awkward young man shuffled through the cabinets and drawers as he looked for the requested items. He was so easily flustered she almost felt guilty. Almost.

"Here we go," he said after a moment, emerging with some iodine, gauze, tweezers, a wet cloth and cotton swabs. He sat down beside her on the cot and opened the bottle of iodine, saying, "Glad Ah managed t'get this stuff from the store. Wouldn't want this t'get infected..."

"No, we wouldn't," Marrow replied, still smiling. Sam cleared his throat and began swabbing the area with the washcloth, making a whistling sound as the nature of the problem became apparent.

"Ya done worked these splinters in real bad, Marrow," he told her, some of his tension alleviated by the busywork. "You been movin' around a lot?"

"I'm very... active," she informed him, glancing seductively over her shoulder just in time to catch him reddening again. "Very, very active. I could show you..."

"Um, no, that won't be necessary, thanks," Sam interrupted hastily, finishing with the towel. He cleared his throat again and said, "Here, hold still now. These things look sorta jagged... almost barbed. This might hurt."

"I like a man who's rough on the bones," Marrow responded, and was rewarded with a gratifyingly nervous gulp from Sam. Never the less, he managed to snag one of the shards with the splinters and yanked it out with relatively little problem.

"Oooo, you've done this before," Marrow said as Sam lay the fragment on the towel. Sam grunted and repeated the process with the next.

"So, uh, aside from this... how do ya like it at the Institute?" he asked after a moment.

"After the Windchaser set her pet attack dog on me the other day?" she answered sarcastically. "Oh, I'm just peachy. You upworlders sure know how to make a girl feel welcome."

She sensed Sam wince. "Well, we've all been kinda... tense here the past couple'a weeks," he apologized, pulling out another fragment. "Ah don't think Miss Munroe really meant for that t'happen. It's not usually like this, honest." He shook his head. "Anyway, if it's okay t'ask... how'd ya do this, anyway?"

"Broke a bone off the wrong way," she replied, seeing no real reason why she should hide it. "Felt like killing something and didn't want to wait for it to pop on its own."

"Uh, okay," Sam said, working out another bit. "Did it... hurt?"

He really means it, she realized with something of a start. >From the others it sounded hollow, but coming from him...

"So what if it did?" she asked, trying to cover up her surprise.

"Well, maybe Dr. Reyes or Dr. McCoy could get ya somethin' for it--"

"And trust upworlder medicine? Pull the other one, Kentucky!"

"It was just a suggest--"

"Well, keep 'em to yourself." Marrow pulled away from him and stretched her arms above her head. Sam, holding the last fragment in his tweezers, got to his feet.

"Hey, Ah still gotta sterilize the area--" he protested as she picked up the upper half of her uniform.

"Save it, hayseed," Marrow snapped, ripping off the medical smock. Sam made an odd gurgling noise and slapped his hands over his eyes, turning around.

"Geez, don't they teach'a modesty in the tunnels?" Sam muttered. Marrow grinned sadistically.

"Modesty is for the weak. I'll tell you what, Kentucky -- I'll rub something against you, and you have to guess which part of me it is--"

"NO!" Sam yelped, taking a stumbling step backwards. "Ah mean, uh, Ah, uh, gottagonowbye!"

Marrow donned her top and chuckled as Sam took off in a clumsy trot for the door. Smiling, she stuck a foot out in his path. This was almost too easy.

"Ow! Hey!" Sam yelped as he pitched foreword onto his elbows, hands still clasped tightly over his eyes. "Marrow, this ain't funny!"

"Relax, corncob -- I'm decent now," Marrow informed him. Really, he was so flustered it defied words.

And yet...

Cautiously, Sam risked a peek. Finding the coast clear he lowered his hands and scrambled to his knees, looking annoyed.

"Ya did that on purpose!"

"I do everything on purpose, blondie."

Sam scowled at her. She smiled. This was too fun.

Sam got to his feet, dripping wounded dignity. "Ya made me skin mah elbow," he said reproachfully. Marrow looked up at him and batted her eyes innocently.

"Oh, did I give the big-strong X-Man an ouchie?" she queried in her most simpering tone. Sam colored nicely.

Her guilty conscience -- such as it was -- reminded her of what else she had planned to do while she was in the infirmary. Verbal sparring was all very well and good, she thought, but she really should be leaving now. Callisto required constant attention, and it had been nearly a day since she had seen her mentor already. She was definitely overdo for a visit.

"Ah meant--"

"I know what you meant, boy. Now move -- I'm leaving."

Sam blinked. "You're leavin' the--"

Marrow cut him off with a snort. "I'm going to run errands," she informed him, quickly snatching the gauze and bandages (as well as the iodine and cotton) Sam had intended to use on her. "Private errands. Now move."

With a silent nod Sam moved aside to let her pass. He didn't even ask why she was taking the medical supplies, which pleased her greatly.

As she made her way up the stairs she heard him call her. Pausing, she spared him a swift backward glance.

"What do you want, Kentucky?" she asked, her patience beginning to wear thin as her concern for Callisto's health began to resurface. Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Look, Marrow," he said softly, "Ah just wanted to say -- it'll get better 'round here. When we loosen up we're all real nice folk, Ah promise. Just give it a chance."

Marrow stared at him for a moment, then turned and continued her trip to the first floor. From there she would be able to make her way to the Morlock tunnels and so back to Callisto. She had no time for Sam's "Let's all just get along" speech.

And what difference would it make if she did? There was no room in Xavier's pretty dream for someone like her -- someone raised in the shadows of humanity, raised on the scorn and refuse of those "above".

No room for her...

And besides, she had her own cause. It was her destiny to ascend, to destroy the humans who had wronged her and her people. Life for life, blood for blood. She must remember that.

And yet... when she recalled Sam's earnest, honest face with its warm blue eyes and hair like sunlight -- like her Angel's -- she couldn't help but wonder. His scent -- fresh and clean and strong, smelling of the sun and sky -- clung to her still, following her as she sped towards the darkness. He was proof that not all of the X-Men hated her, thought she was hopeless...

"Just give it a chance." That is what Callisto tells me as well. I've got so much to risk, but...

But I want to risk it. I want to stay here... in the light...

Just give it a chance.

One chance.

Okay. I can do that.

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