Every war has it's own legends.
He came. Every five years he returned. Always at night when no one was awake to great him. It's the same when he left.
The Wolverine didn't do goodbye, or hellos.
Yet she always knew when he stepped inside. Always managed to hear the faint sound of soles on wooden floor. The creak of the old door in the left wing.
She was six when she first saw him. Trance had brought her in. A lost child in a world of turmoil. Her name was Marissa.
A rugged man. Scowling at her from his seat by the window. She thought then that he looked tired. Now she knew -
An older student had whispered his name in a tone of awe. Wolverine. She hadn't understood then what he had done. Never had the opportunity to ask. The next day when she had come down for breakfast he had been gone and the subject was never breached.
He returned again when she was ten, almost eleven. Left again two days later. She turned eleven and Jim Morrey became the object of her affections.
Still Marissa never forget the Wolverine. Endless nights spent in the library told her his story. She could still tell it by the letter.
Fading images was still hidden in her drawer. When other searched their identity she researched his life.
He became an obsession.
Healthy, unhealthy she didn't know.
She never dared follow him. Instead, every time he left again she turned on the lamp by her bed and read her notes of him.
His real name was Logan. In her dreams she whispered his name against bare skin and screamed it in ecstasy later when he thrust into her.
When she was fifteen she found the picture.
A pretty girl, old fashioned hair cut. White bangs in auburn hair. Logan embraced her and she smiled up at him. He smiled down at her.
Marissa did the only thing she knew. She researched the girl. Found out her name had been Marie.
She remembered that she had tasted the name on the tip of her tongue. Whispered it to feel how it sounded.
When she had turned sixteen he had returned once again. Just as she knew he would. This time she had looked wondering at him. Trying to picture the smiling man from the photograph that laid hidden in her sock drawer in the angry hazel eyes.
She hadn't.
Marissa tried to find out more. Searched through the library from head to toe, used the Internet.
She found the journals on the second floor of the library, almost hidden beneath copies of Henry James and Woodsworth. The sprawl was feminine. The paper smelled of faintly of a perfume she couldn't place.
She carried them to her room. Underneath her blue sweater. The leather was cold against her skin.
Three books. One author.
The day after that he left again. Until today.
During the years the Wolverine had filtered through her life Marissa had thought she had learned something about the man hidden behind the name.
She had been wrong.
The black leather books told a different story then the history books. It began before the war and ended in the middle of it. Marie had died then. Marissa knew that, knew how. Her history book had told her that.
Strapped and lonely in a cement chamber.
Marie was a legend. He was a legend.
The love they shared had fallen in the shadows. Lurked there. Remembered by few, perhaps none.
Odds and bits of information ran through her mind. Painted a picture of a single grey stone, hidden beneath the oaks of the forest. It was a mystery among students and teachers. Unmarked except the mark of three - claws?
Marissa stayed in her bed. Listened to the faint sound of soles on the wooden floor. The slight creak of the back door. The rumble of an engine going off.
She lay the book on her table, turned the light off. Tried to sleep. Didn't succeed. Stared at the ceiling, the white color grey in the darkness.
Five years -
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