[wanda guides him, without much preamble, to a clearing in her domain. while the weather plays to its own whims above her home and forest, in this particular clearing, the trees give way to create a wonderfully idyllic canopy where impossibly yellow rays of sunshine filter through without a worry for clouds or storm. even at night, the moon shines so brightly, everything takes on a hue of silver.

as it were, this clearing reveals a graveyard, with white and yellow flowers growing amidst the six tombstones there.

she does not take a step forward, stopping on the edge of the clearing, arms crossed around her middle.]

Whenever I take a step into this space, the ghosts of my sons appear from nothing—or perhaps from a memory—and they go about playing and calling me 'mom'. Bringing me rocks they've found or wanting to sit by me.

[they're not real, and they are only fueled by a memory, by grief, by a wish.]

And when I sit here, with them, I can't help but think of all that could have been, what should have been. [her relationship with motherhood is complicated, to say the least. wanda sighs, letting her arms hang at her sides.] Just because we didn't get to be what the world expects parents to be like, it doesn't mean that we don't get to feel that empty space in our souls.

[this is, after all, about how lucifer has been dealing with losing jack.]