Lorna Dane was having one of those rare, beautiful days where no mutant crises were blowing up the phone. No anti-mutant protests. No interdimensional portals. No Havok yelling "Lorna, where are my gloves?!"
Just peace. A cozy couch. And a killer pair of heels.
She stretched out luxuriously, her forest green dress hugging her in all the right places, her legs draped lazily over the sofa armrest. On her feet? Jet-black, open-toe stilettos that could probably be registered as a weapon. They weren’t just shoes—they were a statement.
"I should really be wearing boots," she muttered with a smirk, staring at her toes peeking out like they were flaunting themselves. “But hey, even an omega-level metal-bending mutant deserves to feel cute.”
She twirled a finger lazily in the air, using her magnetic powers to float the remote toward her like the laziest Jedi ever. Click. Reruns of Murder, She Wrote. Perfect.
“Bet Jessica Fletcher wouldn’t know what to do if Magneto showed up in Cabot Cove,” she joked to herself.
As she relaxed, Alex walked in and froze mid-step. “Whoa. Since when do you wear heels like that around the house?”
Lorna grinned, tilting her head. “Since I realized I can levitate and never actually have to walk in them.”
“…show off,” Alex grumbled, shaking his head.
But deep down, he knew the truth—Lorna Dane could save the world in combat boots or bring it to its knees in six-inch platforms. Today, it was the latter. And honestly? She was vibing.
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