Cecily Hill
Cecily Hill had always known she was different. From a young age, she could hear the thoughts of others as clearly as if they were speaking out loud. At first, it was a whisper, a murmur at the edge of her consciousness. But as she grew older, the voices became a constant cacophony, overwhelming her with their incessant chatter.
Her parents, fearful and confused, took her to countless doctors and specialists, but no one could explain her abilities. They tried to medicate her, to silence the voices, but nothing worked. In moments of intense emotion, objects would move on their own, lights would flicker, and shadows would dance around her.
The only thing that could ever bring Cecily any peace was a collection of knives. She had a natural talent for them, a precision and grace that belied her age. She spent hours practicing, honing her skills until she could throw a knife and hit a target dead center from across the room.
But even her knives couldn’t protect her from the fear and suspicion of those around her. She was an outcast, a freak. And so, at the age of fifteen, she left her home, hoping to find a place where she belonged.
In the summer of 1983, Cecily was wandering the streets of New York City. She had been trying to live as a normal human. Her abilities had grown stronger, and more unpredictable. She could read minds with ease, but she couldn’t always control when it happened. Sometimes, in moments of panic, she would lash out with telekinetic force, causing chaos around her.
One day, as she was exploring an abandoned warehouse, she felt a strange presence in her mind. It was different from the usual din of thoughts—calmer, more focused.
"Hello, Cecily," a voice said, echoing in her head.
She spun around but saw no one. "Who’s there?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
"My name is Charles Xavier. I’m here to help you."
A man in a wheelchair emerged from the shadows, his gaze steady and kind. Cecily hesitated.
"How do you know my name?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"I’m like you," Charles replied. "I can read minds. I felt your presence and knew you needed help."
Cecily didn’t let her guard down. "Why should I trust you?"
Charles wheeled closer, his expression earnest. "Because I run a school for people like us. A place where you can learn to control your abilities and find others who understand what you’re going through."
Cecily studied him for a moment, then looked around at the dilapidated warehouse. She had nothing to lose. With a sigh, she nodded. "Alright.."
The drive to Westchester was quiet. Charles didn’t press Cecily for details about her past, and she was grateful for it. Instead, he told her about the school, about the other students who had powers like hers. He spoke of a place where she could finally find peace, where she could learn to control her abilities and use them for good.
When they arrived at the school, Cecily felt a flicker of hope. The mansion was grand and welcoming, a stark contrast to the grimy streets she had been living on.
Charles introduced her to the other students and teachers. She met Scott Summers, who could shoot beams of energy from his eyes, and Jean Grey, a telepath and telekinetic like herself. For the first time in her life, Cecily didn’t feel like a freak. She felt like she belonged.
As the weeks went by, Cecily ended up making friends with Jean. She felt a kinship of sorts with the girl. They spent hours talking, sharing fears and dreams.