[it probably is telling, the way aunt may's ghost is a similar reflection to pietro's own. similar emotions afflict them, born from those who carry their memories with them. aunt may refused to run β pietro agreed to go, and regardless of whether either of them had done or refused to do what was asked of them, the result may have very well have been the same: their deaths.
but there is one certainty about their choices.
aunt may raises her hands to put them on either side of peter's head, gentle rubs of her thumbs against the line of his cheeks.
why didn't she run? well, the answer is obvious:]
Because I love you. I couldn't have left you alone.
[pietro had agreed to go at wanda's behest, because he loved her; because he trusted she would be able to handle things on her own. the hot tears on peter's cheeks move aunt may, as she works to fix peter's hair, down to his shoulders to fix the creases of his hoodie and shirt. finally, she lifts his chin, forces him to look at her.]
We all make choices. [her hands hold tightly to his forearms] I chose to stay.
[words, perhaps, that are empty because this isn't the real aunt may, just an echo of what they all wish they could hear, drawn from emotion and memory. aunt may's expression softens though, uncannily like herself, and she draws peter close to her, arms tight around his shoulders, a kiss to the side of his head, into his hair.]
I love you, Peter.
[no blaming, just nuances of affection; crisp and real, drawn from the very real notion of sentiments found should aunt may be alive.
βlike that, in a few more seconds, the spell breaks.
wanda has replaced aunt may, embracing the boy, holding tightly as the world succumbs to carmine tones, breaking away from them and dissolving into what peter's horizon used to beβexcept bare, missing out on the details, a sketch of itself. wanda heaves, breathes heavily, and holds on tightly, her words quiet:]
no subject
but there is one certainty about their choices.
aunt may raises her hands to put them on either side of peter's head, gentle rubs of her thumbs against the line of his cheeks.
why didn't she run? well, the answer is obvious:]
Because I love you. I couldn't have left you alone.
[pietro had agreed to go at wanda's behest, because he loved her; because he trusted she would be able to handle things on her own. the hot tears on peter's cheeks move aunt may, as she works to fix peter's hair, down to his shoulders to fix the creases of his hoodie and shirt. finally, she lifts his chin, forces him to look at her.]
We all make choices. [her hands hold tightly to his forearms] I chose to stay.
[words, perhaps, that are empty because this isn't the real aunt may, just an echo of what they all wish they could hear, drawn from emotion and memory. aunt may's expression softens though, uncannily like herself, and she draws peter close to her, arms tight around his shoulders, a kiss to the side of his head, into his hair.]
I love you, Peter.
[no blaming, just nuances of affection; crisp and real, drawn from the very real notion of sentiments found should aunt may be alive.
βlike that, in a few more seconds, the spell breaks.
wanda has replaced aunt may, embracing the boy, holding tightly as the world succumbs to carmine tones, breaking away from them and dissolving into what peter's horizon used to beβexcept bare, missing out on the details, a sketch of itself. wanda heaves, breathes heavily, and holds on tightly, her words quiet:]
I'm sorry.