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Who: julie and wanda
When: nocwich weekend in february (forward dating babey)
Where: nocwich, some inn
What: julie has a lot of noise in her head, wanda's an expert in brains
Warnings: TBA

[julie had never asked her for help about this. wanda had simply—offered, and the plan seemed so simple enough, straightforward enough, that there's no way they shouldn't, at the very least, try it.

right?

well, they spoke at some point before 'christmas', and wanda's been preparing herself for it. getting into someone's mind, purposely, to try and remove something from them almost feels like a neurosurgeon preparing for surgery. one wrong move, one wrong touch, and she could ruin julie for good, and that's the last thing she wants to do. but wanda thinks she's ready now.

incantations and spells aside, there is resolve in her. she tells julie as much: 'bring your totem, and let's meet next time the portals open.'

it's the very first thing she'll do, setting foot in nocwich, and heading straight to the inn that they agreed to meet in. how long will it last? how long will they need? no idea—but hopefully less than two days. hopefully, by the end of these two days, julie will return to some sense of normalcy. the inn's already been paid for, and wanda just heads into the room the innkeeper tells her 'her friend' is waiting at.

as she opens the door, she isn't sure what to expect. she hasn't seen julie in person since their cruise liner trip, and by her count, it's been about a month since.]

Julie, [the door swings open, and wanda steps in, looking at her friend.] I'm here.

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[ There is so much incredibly dark irony in Wanda approaching this like a neurosurgeon. Julie, on the other hand, has not really prepared in any way other than barely clinging to her sanity over the constant racket in her head. Even in just the few weeks since they were on the cruise ship, the effects of whatever's in her brain are more openly taking their toll. She's lost weight, her cheeks somewhat gaunt. Her skin is sallow and there are dark circles under her eyes that she can't fully conceal with makeup. When she raises her hands, her fingers tremble.

At this point, she'd be equally satisfied if Wanda just completely detached her entire consciousness. Anything for a moment of real peace.

In the inn room, Julie is sitting cross-legged on the bed. Unlike every other time they've met in person, there aren't multiple traveling bags and trunks cluttering up the corners, waiting to be stuffed with purchases. There's a small bag sitting next to a chair, with only a few overnight necessities left in it. The main item she'd brought sits on the bed in front of her. Her totem.

It's a glass canning jar, the kind with a wire latch that holds the top down. Inside, there's a tiny but very real storm cloud, complete with lightning and rain, which only collects in a small pool at the bottom. She's probably made dozens of these over the past year, but this particular jar was the first time she successfully captured one of the clouds. It's the only one she's kept for herself. ]

Hey. [ Ill appearance aside, she smiles at Wanda just as happily as ever. Like she's just happy to see a friend. ] Trip here okay?

Not a hitch.

[walking into nocwich through the portals was a novelty, months ago, but now it feels like walking to the corner store after years of living in the same neighborhood; straightforward, immediate knowledge of where one wants to go and for what.

closing the door behind her, wanda can't help but notice how julie's appearance portrays what ails her on the inside. it's worrisome, and wanda wishes she had been ready sooner. her being in high spirits though? smiling and happy despite the circumstances?

yeah, wanda knew julie's will was strong before. this just really cements it.]

I think we should best just get to it. [no time to waste, as she doesn't know how much time she'll need. wanda spares a glance around, sets down her own leather bag on the floor, and moves around the corners of the room, marking them with runes drawn out in short pulses of her magic.] I'm warding the room so that we won't be interrupted.

[no outside influence, no distractions. wanda closes the curtains on the window, continuing her small prepping ritual.]

—how do you feel?

[ All Julie really knows how to handle terrible situations is to just keep going. Ignore how awful she may feel and keep moving forward. Every time she passed a dead body, bloated and rotting in the sun. Every day in the store, when she had been alone for weeks on end. Every step across multiple states, as her shoes filled with blood and her back ached. Every moment since she's been dragged back from the nothingness of death, knowing that it's all just a matter of time until she goes back.

What's a little constant, deafening noise compared to any of that?

She watches Wanda move around the room. Some of the runes, she can recognize. The most basic ones, all the ones Wanda taught her when they first met. Most of them are too complex for her, though. But her trust in Wanda is absolute. ]

Um, okay, I guess. I mean, as much as can be. [ She feels awful. But after weeks and weeks of feeling that way, it's the new "okay". It has to be. ] Maybe a little nervous. Not of you, just... from not knowin'. How it'll end up. If it'll leave.

[ She holds up the jar. ] This is my totem.

[the uncertainty—yes, wanda gets that, and she wishes there was a way that she could tell julie that it would be alright. to raise someone's hopes for nothing is the worst feeling.

once she's done setting up the runes, her magic connects—corner to corner, on the roof, on the floor.

this is when she turns towards julie, reaching the bed and sitting towards the end of it. she's at a close enough distance to take the jar once it is held up, her totem. wanda smiles, amused. a storm cloud. she sets it back down for julie.]

And your emotions and thoughts are as clear as they can be when you think of your totem, right?

[ A stitch develops between her eyebrows as she focuses on the jar. She's not entirely sure what, exactly, Wanda means when she asks about the clarity of her thoughts. Her emotions. Julie's thoughts and emotions are always a mess, have been for much longer than she's been in Abraxas.

But she fixates on the storm for a moment, mouth in a tight line. In the middle of the roar in her skull, she tries to picture a clear space, like the eye of a tornado, where she sets the jar in her mind.

You made that, she tells herself. You made that. You didn't used to have any power, but you made that. You're here, and the Singularity picked you over everyone else, Lawry. Even Flagg. I will fear no fucking evil.

Outside of the space she's created, she can feel the noise growing, trying to encroach on her little jar. Like it knows she's trying to fight against it. But the image of the jar feels -- it feels quiet. Lightning crackles down from the cloud and the noise doesn't overwhelm the image. It's not the steadiest clarity, but it's clarity.

Julie nods to Wanda. ] Yeah. Yeah, they are.

[ But she does have a second thought, and quickly reaches up to unclasp the necklace she wears. It's an animal tooth, set in metal that holds part of a spell she's still working out. There are symbols carved into the back, a different language. She wraps the chain around the neck of the jar. ]

If I can't come back for the cloud, then I know I'll come back for this one.

[wanda grazes over julie's thoughts just to make sure that that clarity is there (and if it wasn't, would she pull the plug on this—?), and finds relief in knowing that her thoughts are certain. there is strength in her friend, strong enough despite the debilitating noise that also starts to contaminate wanda's mind the more she treads into julie's.

she watches as julie clasps a necklace around the neck of the jar, and, that done, she grabs at the jar again and gets off the bed.]

Good.

[holding the jar carefully between her hands, she walks around the bed and then motions at julie to lie down and get comfortable. no need for her to sit or stand throughout the spellwork.

then, she places the jar between julie's hands, for her to hold on to.]

I told you before, that you'll need to grant me access to your mind. I know that it sounds absurd, but even if I could unlock your mind myself without needing your permission, it will make things easier. [wanda stands back, allows a haze of red to decorate the room with a plethora of wax candles. incantations are fickle and they hold to their rites. the candles decorate most surfaces, the edges of where floor meets wall. they are already lit, their wicks burnt by flame.] If I'm an invited guest, then I will be able to chase down whatever this noise is.

[—how to allow her access, though? wanda stands at the end of the bed, before julie's prone form.]

When you think you feel someone else inside your head, don't resist.

That's all.

[ Julie takes the jar with a sharp breath and a nod. She puts a pillow under her head and closes her eyes, tucks the jar under one arm against her stomach and winds her fingers through the chain. It takes her a moment to stop being tense, but she's able to sort of relax after that.

After all, it's not even close to her first time having her mind entered.

Which Wanda might be able to tell, by how easily Julie seems to let her in. In fact, there's no resistance to Wanda's presence at all; if anything, Julie's just relieved that Wanda doesn't feel dark and oil-slick in her head, like Flagg had. But even welcoming as she tries to make her head, the noise still roars around, and now Wanda might see the constant rush of light and color that accompanies it, paints the back of Julie's eyelids when she closes them. ]

[wanda cannot remember the last time she got into someone's mind like this. in fact, she's pretty certain she's never actually just walked into someone's mind—always a suggestion, always an illusion, but never herself hand-in-hand with her magic.

she feels like an intruder at first, but then it is as if she is welcomed into the fold. no resistance, no thoughts and no memories barricading her path, nothing pushing back against her.

except for the noise, of course, and all the lights and colors that come with it.

her voice echoes in the chambers of julie's inner conscience, echoing all around, as she asks,]

Take me to when it started.

[it's a command not meant for anyone in particular, but the whirl of julie's memories will start to mold easily under her command, as if there was an override of ownership. but wanda doesn't know what shape it'll take, leading her to this memory, whether she will follow an echo of julie through it, if it'll be a hallway with neatly tied-in doors to choose from, or if it'll just be a whirlwind vat to get swept in. wanda waits as the world forms around her, careful glances around, wary of keeping herself strong and shielded from the noise and lights and colors.]

[ Nothing pushes back against Wanda, but it is clear that, behind the chaos she's come to deal with, much of Julie's consciousness is tightly held back, like stacks of sealed boxes. Not all of it, but much of it. It's not related to Wanda -- Julie relies on compartmentalization to simply get through daily life. These are the memories and feelings that seem to rattle their cages from how strong they are, how angry and frightening. But they don't break free.

It actually puts into perspective how truly overwhelming the blob's leftovers are, that Julie can't imprison them the way she can with these others.

Wanda asks for the beginning of it all, and what appears is a desert set against a pink sky. There's no wind, no ambient noise. The clouds hang still in the sky, not moving. The ground below is fractured, split into large cracks that offer a glimpse of pure, black nothingness below. There's no plant life anywhere, just rocks and dirt.

In fact, the only living things in the entire space are Julie and an enormous blob that hangs in the sky like a balloon. The blob is a cross between a jellyfish and perhaps a wad of chewing gum, strange and alien with tendrils and tentacles that hang down, and it is surrounded by a delicate, shimmering bubble. Julie slowly walks toward it, in her full sparkling outfit of choice. But she's barefoot, hair mussed, and she looks exhausted.

Her impact on the space is visible too; where most who were trapped in these bizarre, liminal spaces found themselves unable to create anything, Julie has been able to create a few functional items. A chair, a small table. Multiple bottles of vodka, all of which are now empty, and a few of which have been shattered on the ground when she threw them at the blob in frustration but couldn't reach. There's a small pile of non-functional objects too, like a ladder missing most of the rungs and half of one leg. Multiple pairs of sneakers, all of which have holes in the soles. Frayed ropes and compasses that spin wildly. Things that indicate her attempts to get out before she gave up and just settled for base comfort.

The blob hums and shakes the entire landscape as she approaches. Her steps are tentative, careful. New fissures in the ground break from the vibrations, which intensify greatly as she keeps moving. She eventually drops to the ground to crawl, as the tremors become so strong that her balance gives out. The whole time, she stares up at it, seemingly transfixed.

Throughout the entire time, there is a extra, distinct sensation of being watched. Intruded on. It permeates the entire landscape. The feeling isn't necessarily horrible, but it's oppressive, and it doesn't let up as she gets closer to the blob.

When she manages to reach the spot directly under the blob, she unsteadily rises to her feet. The ground around her immediately starts to crumble as she stretches one arm above her head, waving it, trying to grab the lowest-hanging tendril. It's just out of reach, a hair higher than her fingertips, even when she stands on her toes. The earth under her is almost gone, a single footprint's worth of space still holding together beneath her feet.

There's a moment where she takes a breath, and then she gives a tiny hop. Her fingers brush the appendage, but she can't close her hand around it. The ground disintegrates and she falls into the blackness. ]

[wanda's physical form is not here, in this moment, in this desert set against a pink sky, and yet everything feels obstructively real. soon enough, the images she sees twist and turn, a fish-eyed lens, and her point of view changes entirely. her movements are her own, but not; she sees this memory now through julie's eyes, for she is julie in this moment. wanda's focus is to keep her mind distinct from her friend's, to not be consumed by the overwhelming memory.

it is overwhelming, with every step forward, with every frustrated attempt to escape the space. she feels those emotions and thoughts as if they were her own, understands, then, intrinsically, how powerful this blob was against the shields of julie's mind.

and then: darkness.

it is only now that wanda extricates herself from leading through this memory as 'julie'—or were they always separate? this feels like a murky dream, full of turns and looping scenarios, momentum that makes no sense. but this is real now, the darkness, julie falling into it. that should be as far as the memory goes, that is how far wanda should be able to move before losing the trail entirely.

—except, there is a spark of something, barely there, that she takes notice of. the blackness that julie had fallen into doesn't swallow wanda whole; it is instead like a placid lake, ripples forming as she takes steps forward, following the smattering of glitter-like pearls just up ahead, like a firefly's intermittent on-and-off.

wanda crosses through, having the feeling that she is treading deeper and deeper into julie's mind. there is no resistance, still, and the couple of memories that echo past her seem blurry and smudged, like they're either tiny forgotten facts of her childhood or things that julie hasn't thought about in a while. those don't matter—they feel like a distraction—and so wanda does not peel her eyes away from those glittering lights.

something strange lingers here.

how far has she walked? how long has she been inside julie's mind? there is no way to say, but there is something amiss here. sometimes that doesn't belong. the glittering lights are now more obvious, more present.]

Julie.

[stopping in front of it, a few feet away, wanda wants to be cautious before interacting with it. is she so far deep into julie's subconscious that the pink-haired woman won't hear her? regardless, it is worth a try.

because, whatever this is, it doesn't belong here.]

I need you to hold fast to who you are.

[to hold onto her totem, to remember who she is.]

[ The darkness was where Julie's mind became blurred against whatever came from the blob. Even now, months later, she has no idea how long she fell for -- it felt like both a second and a million years. That void was soundless and colorless, and yet she'd been drowned in both. Or at least she thinks she had.

Maybe that was all in her head too.

Now, Julie just feels frozen in mid-fall, as if her own memory doesn't carry through to the next part, when she'd crashed through the ceiling. Wanda has been with her up to now, but then it seems like she disappears, like she's gone somewhere that Julie can't accompany her.

It's a strange feeling. Because Wanda is here but not here, and things are getting fuzzy around the edges. What were they doing? What came next?

With every passing moment, Julie feels more and more detached from her sense of self. From her thoughts and her memories. None of that is in the dark with her. But then Wanda's voice is.

Hold fast to who you are, it says, and Julie struggles to make an image form for herself. Who you are. A picture of a storm cloud materializes, blurry. The raindrops seem to fall on the blackness like the surface of a pond. She focuses on the image, but it's like watching television on rabbit ears in bad weather.

Hold fast. Julie tries for something else, but she doesn't get any other pictures. Instead, she gets a sense of tightness in her chest, so strong that she thinks she might burst, but the pain feels good. The storm cloud becomes a bit sharper, the thunder no longer silent. ]

[wanda doesn't know whether julie has heard her or not—or so she thinks. she hears thunders, far away, but thunder nonetheless. for a space that was devoid of noise outside of her own thoughts (and surprisingly so, for it is noise that haunts her friend), it is noticeable. wanda thinks of the jar with the storm cloud.

maybe.

in this space, where the silence has become a source of order and not chaos, wanda draws runes with her magic—runes to strengthen julie's mind, julie's control of what ails her. to capture this moment, permanently, and give her the control of her mind back so that this noise and the lights and colors debilitate her no more.

the runes follow too a chant of her own conjuring, emblazoned with her chaos magic to remain solidly here, like a balm over open wounds that will now finally be allowed to heal.

that done, there is still the matter of this shapely thing that doesn't belong in this space. wanda refuses to touch it with her magic, for it feels separate from what imparted the noise and chaos in julie's mind. so, wanda walks forward until she's right there at the cusp of the glittering lights, wanda brings a hand forward to where they congregate, hiding in mirrors and illusions, a something that is so abstract it holds no shape, but which, nonetheless, has materialized itself here.

her fingertips just about graze upon it when, immediately, there is a flash.

and a vision.

the singularity at night, surrounded by a ring of purple flames. a frenzied crowd stands around the fire. in the circle is a woman. her features are not visible, but she wears an ornate headdress. she loudly chants a series of words that are not in any recognizable language. power crackles in the air as she repeats them. a crack of blazing red lightning suddenly appears in the black sky. it branches in two: one strikes the singularity, the other strikes the woman.

this vision remains in her mind as she's violently expelled from julie's own. the pain she feels of being hurtled out is not physical, but her head—hurts, for a moment, like a stabbing migraine hyperfocused on her temples. the light of the candles have been blown out, entirely, and she's back in nocwich—body and mind—knocked out of her deep meditation.

it takes a moment for her thoughts to piece themselves together again, but the electricity on her skin—it reminds her. like she, too, had been struck by lightning. she raises herself from the floor, holding onto the frame of the bed, and looks at julie's prone form on the bed.

—wanda knows she's alive. her thoughts are there, her soul—aura—whatever it is—it's there.

tentatively,]

Julie?

[wanda groans, getting herself up to her feet and up on the bed, a hand resting on the other woman's leg, shaking her a little.]

Julie, wake up.

[ The darkness is silent, save for her tiny storm, but there's a moment where the silence changes. It goes from feeling stifling and tense to an almost tranquil quiet. Peaceful. She can't remember the last time she felt anything like this in her head. She's beginning to think it's all over, that Wanda has saved her, that finally she'll be able to sleep.

And then there is something else. Something she has felt only once before. Agony so white-hot and sharp that it's blinding. There's a sizzling sound in her ears; she can smell her own burning flesh. The good pain in her chest is replaced entirely by heat, by crackling electricity that shoots through her veins in an instant. It's all so fast, even faster than the first time, and she shrieks, the sound echoing in the emptiness.

In the outside world, Julie has curled in on herself, cradling the jar so tightly that it would break if she hadn't enchanted it months ago to be shatterproof. Her knuckles, wound in the chain of her necklace, have turned white with her grip.

Just as Wanda tries to wake her, she shoots upright, screaming. Her hands clutch wildly at her own torso, her eyes wide with sheer terror, unable to separate her physical body from the memory of being hit by lightning. Her own death, forever stuck in her head.

There's a second where her mind races to catch up. The blazing torture of being electrocuted to death retreats just as quickly as it came from nowhere, leaving only the feeling of dancing static on her skin. Her chest heaves and she looks around. ]

I'm -- I didn't -- what happened?

[is it a good sign that julie seems to have questions rather than immediate comments about being in pain? there's a peace to her eyes, though, that wanda can tell. despite the vision at the end there, wanda can only hope that all that noise that had been debilitating to julie is now gone—or at least left in a space that cannot take over the thoughts of its host.

having found her own balance, wanda moves her hand to grab gently at julie's. she feels the roughness of her fingers, and this has always been a grounding action for wanda.]

I found the noise and I — I placed a spell on it.

[the million dollar question still remains.]

How do you feel? Can you still hear it?

[ The truth of the matter is that Julie isn't exactly a stranger to waking up screaming from a similar dream -- it's just usually not so sharp a feeling. So real. That's the part that throws her off kilter. But even with the fright, there is a flicker of something different in her eyes. A presence of mind that she hasn't been able to muster for weeks now.

Wanda's hand is warm and solid on hers, and Julie looks at it for a moment without speaking. Her head feels... empty. Not in a bad way. In the best way. There's no grating bedlam filling her skull until it aches, jamming into her head like icepicks. There's only her own, simple thoughts, marveling at the sudden quiet.

Julie blinks at Wanda's face, shocked despite herself. ]

No. No, I don't hear anythin' at all.

[those are the best words that julie could utter.

wanda does a gentle skim over her thoughts, moving her free hand over julie's forehead to pull back some stray strands of pink hair. she picks up on — nothing, which is really, really good news. just the usual superficial thoughts one isn't even aware of are taking place.]

Good.

[she smiles, and though she still feels the pinpricks of electricity on her skin, this is the best possible result. her hand falls to meet the other, holding tight to julie's own.]

Does anything feel amiss? Can you — think of your memories just fine?

[after she makes sure julie is in perfect working order, she'll bring up the vision she saw. some things just come first.]

[ There's another beat, because Julie can draw up her memories, but what if she doesn't know that she's missing something? Quickly, the thought pattern begins to feel too existential, and she shakes her head a little, as if to clear the question. She thinks she can remember everything. Her friends, her family, where she's been and what she's done. They're all there and crystal clear. ]

I think so. Or at least I can't tell if anythin' is wrong or gone. It all seems right.

[ When Julie stops trying to recall things like her first grade teacher's name and the last four digits of her social security number, Wanda's phrasing instead takes her focus, and she looks at her friend with big eyes. ]

So... it's still in there? Just spelled?

[the lack of a headache at trying to dig into her memories is already a sign, to wanda, that there is no interference or resistance. to julie it might be an exercise in futility and a path to an existential crisis. but, to her? it means all is well.

she lets go of her baited breath.

—okay, good, she hadn't entirely fucked up her friend's mind—

at the question, though, wanda fumbles for an answer.]

It's... not that I couldn't remove it, but it felt like it was part of something more. I don't know if it's your connection to the Singularity, but I know that's — extremely important to you. I didn't want to mess with that.

[but, she offers a small smile.]

My magic is powerful. There might be fluctuations because of this world, but you won't find the noise plaguing your mind again. Not like this. [...] ...and if you ever want to be completely rid of it, you just let me know.

[it was a choice that, upon further understanding of the situation, wanda could not make herself.]

[ Julie's brow knits deeply. What? She doesn't understand what Wanda could mean. What could there be that's more? She had her connection with the Singularity long before the noise ever came along, so how are the two things linked?

And there's a deeper feeling too, one that Julie doesn't necessarily have a word for. She knows, logically, that her connection is probably the most dangerous thing she could possess in this world. That it causes her complications that most others don't seem to share, that it could very easily all become too much at any given moment. She should be jumping at the chance to have it safely removed.

But the thought of losing it causes instant anguish inside her. Emotional pain so strong that she wants to physically double over. And it's not the idea of no longer being special -- Julie is just self-aware enough to understand that her pursuit of that specialness has always been a part of it, but it's not even the majority.

The connection is part of her. She is part of it. Removing the connection would be splitting one being into two, she knows it instinctively. She knows it the same way she just knows the Horizon, knows how to shape it and use it and communicate with it. Like breathing, no thought or knowledge required. And the Singularity is part of that.

She just wants to know what it all means. What she's meant to do with it. ]

What do you mean by "something more"? [ She speaks slowly, like she's still trying to sort through her thoughts. ]

[wanda can feel these general fast-thought processes going through julie's mind. something tells her that she made the right choice in not removing the noise completely; she isn't quite sure how one relates to the other, but to remove the noise seemed like it would uproot her connection to the singularity entirely.

and what would happen then? the singularity is something far too powerful to mess with willy nilly, even with wanda's powers.

it's not worth the risk.]

I lived through your memory of when the noise first started, with that... blob. [there's no other word for it.] But — after you fell into the darkness, I felt something else. Something that [a pause, brow pinching] did not feel like it was yours.

[funnily, it presented itself to wanda as glittering lights, and julie loves glitter and shiny trinkets, doesn't she?]

It was — odd, and I tried to get close to it and read into what it was, but—

[instead, that vision, intrusive even in her own thoughts. it felt far too real.]

Did you have a vision while you were asleep? Lightning strike. The Singularity at night. A woman surrounded by a circle of purple flames?

Edited 2023-02-06 21:01 (UTC)

Not mine?

[ But then... whose? Does the Singularity have memories? Well, strike that, Julie knows it does, in some sense. But why would she have a memory that isn't hers?

Wanda continues, and Julie's expression grows more and more rattled. She shakes her head a little; she hadn't seen anything. Just blackness, like the deepest sleep, except with Wanda's echoing voice, and with her own little vision. She speaks without thinking. ]

No, the lightning is -- [ but she cuts herself off. She hasn't told Wanda that part of the story, hasn't ever told anyone exactly how she died. Only Sam knows, and that's because he saw it without her permission in her memories. But Wanda wouldn't call that a vision anyway, because it's not. It's a memory as real as the blob, as her parents, as everything else she's ever actually lived through.

It's the next part that makes her hesitate. Purple flames?

I see an excited crowd surrounding purple flame. You hold a tie to old words and dangerous magicks, the werewolf lady had said, and Julie's hair stood on end before she abruptly left the tent. ]

[wanda doesn't have an answer to julie's question; it seems like something that she will have to uncover herself, perhaps even live with.]

If you ever feel that something is amiss [with what was left behind] you have to let me know. We may not understand it right now, but—perhaps—in time...

[but then julie's speaking without thinking.

says something about the lightning and stops herself, offering nothing more. wanda looks at her, puzzled, and when it's clear that she won't say more, wanda speaks up.]

—does that mean anything to you?

I will. [ It seems wisest to agree in the moment, although Julie knows herself well enough to already know her reaction if something is amiss -- she'll first ignore it out of stubbornness and fear, then she'll suffer quietly until someone else notices. That's what she always does now, now that she has this thing she can't control. She is so afraid that she'll lose the bond, the connection. It seems safer to just deal with the complications.

Julie doesn't elaborate on the lightning, won't unless she's pushed. Wanda can probably sense the defenses around that thought, even amongst the carefully constructed boxes holding all the other screaming trauma. Lightning, unlike the others, seems wrapped in barbed wire and electrified, set alone like an island, and still the box rattles furiously, dangerously.

But she does respond to the question. ]

The fortuneteller. The one from the first time we came to Oleuni Square. She... she said she saw purple flames when she looked at me, and a crowd. [ Julie falters for a moment before she swallows hard and continues. ] That I'm tied to "old words and dark magicks". But she didn't say what any of it meant.

[she does feel it, that tension under the surface—of defenses, of a subject that is not to be touched upon. she considers pushing, but julie has been through so much lately, the last thing wanda wants to do is to push her any further when the now should be a time for her to rest and recover: mentally, physically, emotionally.

at the mention of the fortuneteller, wanda can't say that she's all too surprised that there is truth to those fortunes she had drawn out.

her people believed plenty in being able to having the gift of premonition, of 'fortunetelling', so to speak. for it to draw onto something so concrete—? this is the first she's heard of their fortunes having such a connection. are they to expect more?

something to think about.]

Most readings aren't meant to tell you exactly what it is, but to give a glimpse of what could be, or what awaits, even if in uncertain terms.

[old words and dark magicks, though.]

We know you have a connection with the magic of this world unlike others, though. Your connection with the Singularity, too.

[wanda reaches forward, grabs at julie's hands tightly.]

I know you already know this, but you can't tell anyone. About the Singularity, about this noise, about your fortune. I have no intention of doing so, either. [there is a mystery here, and wanda wishes to be able to help julie figure it out to whatever capacity she can.] You might notice that things will change for you, magically speaking. Will you keep me informed?

I want to offer you support, or guidance, whatever those changes may need.

So... [ She swallows hard again, glances upward. The tentative happiness that she'd felt at the silence in her head becomes shot through with fear. ] It wasn't a memory. It's... what's goin' to happen to me?

[ The corners of her eyes sparkle before she wipes harshly at them. In an instant, she feels everything she's done in Abraxas, the life she's made, all of it swept away and replaced by the darkness that's lived inside her since she helplessly watched the whole world slowly suffocate to death. It settles over her thoughts like a thick black mist, impenetrable.

Two years, two years of working and learning and trying to be better. Of scrapping and clawing, of fighting back the demonic sludge that Flagg's influence left before, compounded by her own worst instincts. None of it mattered, might as well have been her imagination.

It's all going to happen again, right up to and including the death she was brought back from.

It isn't fair. ]

The only other person who knows all three is Geralt. Everyone who knows anythin' is someone I trust. [ Her voice is somewhat dull, her thoughts still stuck on the previous information. There is a small group that she's explained some of the details to, but no one person knows it all except Geralt (and now Wanda). And even they don't know the exact extent to which she's learned how to communicate with the Singularity.

Wanda takes her hands and without thinking, Julie clutches at her fingers, knuckles turning white. She nods, sniffles despite herself. ] I'll tell you.

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