[peter speaks, says it's okay, explains a little bit about his aunt — tries to go about it in his usual high-speed vocalization of thoughts, probably doesn't even notice the way his expression shifts and goes downward, somewhat avoidant of that reality. she has a vague recollection of, yeah, telling him to stop thinking so much.

things, while stuck in the fugue of scarlet and chaos, were a little difficult to discern entirely, now that she's got a better foothold on reality.

when peter pulls his hands away and looks around, wanda is left to hold her hands, the warmth of peter's hands gone. she takes a deep breath, not willing to concede to the fact that this itself is a death sentence to their acquaintanceship nor him solidly drawing away from her entirely, forever. so she brings her hands closer to herself, rubbing them lightly, nervously. it's what helps her look up and around with him, at the bare apartment.

there's a small shake of her head.]

I tried to recreate it to what you had before, [in the horizon] but I didn't... know the details of it. [what he had placed in his domain and what she had corrupted with her magic. quietly, answering his question:] — I think it's alright now.

[wanda steps forward, pulling at the sleeves of her coat (modern clothes, from their world) downwards, hiding her wrists, but stopping before she moves too far away.]

Our... memories got mixed up. [it's a lot: of grief, of pain. it's worse when it's shared, because there's no untangling what is yours and what isn't.] I — could make you forget this happened, if it's too much. I'm just...

[so ashamed. the following words come out of her before she can stop them:]

It's alright if you hate me.