Rogue 97 and Rogue Eva

Today I sparred a few rounds with another version of me in the training room. She really didn't hold back—almost tore my gloves right off. I get it. She's angry at me, angry that I became the person she wanted most but was too afraid to imagine. But I want to tell her too—kid, I've been where you are, all spikes and bristles. Except back then no one could touch me, and even I thought that was just how my life would be. Now I can stand here with my head held high because someone reached out and caught me first. Don't rush it. Someone will catch your hand too.