"You're telling me that you got Captain America-the War Hero, Steve Rogers-to become best friends with a thirteen-year-old kid? What, is this supposed to slowly introduce him to how irritating Generation Z is? Project Training Wheels or something?"
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When Lizzie was born, her parents were confident that they could raise another girl. They'd gone through the motions already with Sharon: have more band-aids than you think, prepare yourself for the attitude, sign her up for everything because she owned the world, and most importantly, quite possibly for any parent, was to let them be who they want to be. But where Sharon had enjoyed the quiet, Lizzie was desperate to fill the silence. Screaming in the middle of the night, making teenager Sharon groan until her pillows suffocated her ears. Where Sharon could control her emotions, Lizzie could always get her way in theatrics...or anger, sometimes. Lizzie was her mother's daughter, and Sharon was her father's.
Except, now, Lizzie couldn't recognize herself. She ran her hands underneath the sink in her bathroom, elbows rested against the porcelain countertop. After a few seconds, she hunched down further to splash the cold water against her face in hopes that it would give her some energy (it didn't). Pushing off her arms, she made the mistake of looking ahead and had to reintroduce herself to her reflection. The water rolled down her cheeks, catching just below her collarbone where her silver chain hit. The longer she watched herself, the less she knew the person staring back.
Lizzie had never been a vain person, and she never cared much for appearances, but even she could not deny that there was something wrong. Something that she could not figure out as she watched herself, taking in every detail. Naturally-brunette hair had been dyed a startling dark, still wet and sticking to her face from the shower she'd taken, with brown eyes glaring back at their enemy. There was no warmth. No recognition. Eyes of a legacy, ones she loved—ones that were her aunt's. Her grandfather's. Her father's. Her sister's.
"MJ? You okay?" came from outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft tapping from her girlfriend's knuckles. She exhaled deeply and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the bad thoughts.
