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Author's Chapter Notes:
If you hate it, not my problem. I was just trying to put into words what I perceived the characters to be, and trying to find phrases to describe the visions that are painted so vividly in my mind.

Dedication: To victoria p., who inspired me with her fiction, and Crystalline Dreamer, my muse. She gave me this wonderful idea in a dream.
He painted me.

I knew he would.

I begged and pleaded with him, but he was afraid to show me what I was.

Now I know how he sees me.

And I know how he sees Logan.

How can we be so different, yet so in love? Atruis assures me that it will not last. Our souls are forever in a war that we have no control over. It is impossible to fall in love. Our souls will eventually collide, and only one will walk away.

"Rogue, please…" started Atruis, a pained light in his eye. "I can't paint you. It would be too painful."

"Painful for who?" She demanded, her voice low and soft, running over him like a pale honey, a touch of gold, and something that he couldn't identify.

"Painful for all of us. Especially you and Logan. I can't let them see what you are. It would be not only painful, but also dangerous. I'm sorry, I can't put you in that danger." His voice was a deep baritone, reaching down into one's soul and soothing tangled emotions, old fears, and broken dreams.

"What danger would that be? Atruis, I just want you to paint me as you see me. Your mutation is to let you see the truth. I just want to know the truth about myself. I'll give you anything. Please?" Her green eyes were large and pleading. She wanted to know who she was. Not Rogue, but Marie. She just wanted to know what her spirit was. What she would manifest herself as after her heart wore out and her body lay cold in a box, six feet under dark, dank, solid earth.

He was quiet for a few moments. Atruis had been bred to have common sense and good judgment. If he were to do as Rogue wished, he would be going against his better judgment. But she deserved to see herself for what she was, what she would become. What she always had been.

"Alright. I'll do it." Atruis had a dim light in his eyes, and his voice was heavy and lined with doubt, but he would help her. She deserved that much at least.


Now he faced his canvas, paints of all shades and colors surrounded him. It was a difficult decision to make, what shades to use for what. He wanted to bring out the vibrant green of her eyes, the rich brown of her mane, and the pearly white of her coat. And the horn, the horn had to be perfect. It represented her innocence, peace, and kindness.

He stared down at the gold leaf, lying patently in clear plastic, waiting to be applied to the bland cream of the canvas. It would shine with all the color and vibrancy of the sun itself.

Atruis was a kind man, and what he had seen when he dreamt of Rogue Marie was the most twistedly fascinating idea. She, herself, was so pure and vibrant that it almost hurt to look into her brilliance. But there were shadows all around. Waiting. For the perfect opportunity to strike down her brilliance, or at least dull it to an imperfect shine.

It was the most horrifying experience he had ever gone through in his life. He had already painted portraits of several people since he had been there in his short six months.

The professor had been an elemental spirit, all knowing and all-powerful. He had been gathering mutants and humans up in his clear arms. He had kept them all safe and warm in his comforting presence. It hung in his office, in the area near his desk, where all could admire its stunning realty.

Jean had been a great red flower, blossoming in a small clearing in a dark patch of foreboding woods. A single ray of light had shone down upon her brilliance, signifying her hope and brightness. He had painted it with soft tones and short brush strokes. It hung her and her husband's room, right next to his, over their bed.

Scott's painting was of a glorious stallion, running through the desert with his band of horses. Scott was a large stallion with brilliant ruby eyes. His coat was a glistening brown. His mane was silky and flying free, his tail held up in a large arc, like a flag. He was leading his horses, like the fearless leader that he was perceived to be.

He had painted no more because he had dreamed no more. He had dreamed recently of Rogue, and then Logan. The dreams had disturbed him greatly. Rogue was an innocent unicorn, while Logan a fiery dragon. It was cosmic law that dragons and unicorns were never to love or even become allies with one another. Unicorns represented the ultimate virtue, while dragons represented the ultimate sin. It was impossible for them to live together.

He did not want to paint either portrait, because then he would have to paint the other. He wanted both Rogue and the Wolverine to be happy and safe. He did not want them to worry about their souls, be he realized that they would never be in peace until they faced the reality that their souls would collide in a light so brilliant and hot, that every creature would burn. Only one could walk away from such an incident. In the case of Rogue and Logan, it would be evil against goodness. It was easier to follow the path of evil, so more people fell prey to that. But a large handful realized the true path, and they were the unicorn's followers.

So Atruis started to paint.


Atruis painted us.

Marie and I.

She was a pure white unicorn with a gold horn, brown mane, and large green eyes. She was rearing in a pool of shadows, all of them pulling at her, trying to pull her down. It was supposed to be Marie, drowning in the other minds that invaded her.

I was a red dragon. Atruis painted what came to him in his dream. I can't say that I'm thankful for that.

I was a ruby red dragon. My wings were outstretched, and my scales seemed to be on fire. I was flying above a herd of unicorns, and I was herding them towards a large fiery pit. I knew that the white creatures would burn alive in the pits of hell. Marie had looked horrified at my painting.

When Atruis had announced what we were, everyone had gasped. No one wanted to believe that I was sin and Rogue was virtue. That we would collide, and one of us would kill the other. Only one of us was allowed to walk away, he said. Only one.

The question is, which one is stronger than love?

Evil, or Virtue?
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