[wanda feels it inside her, the way their pain is parallel. peter's life may not have been turned upside down by the horrors of war and a destroyed apartment, but there is certainly destruction and loss. wanda was young when she lost her parentsβwhen the war that waged in the streets of novi grad took over her homeβbut peter is young too, and he's already lost everything. at least wanda had pietro, and she wasn't alone as she traversed through her grief and anger alongside him; at least wanda had vision, who healed her grief and sorrow with love and gentleness.
she exhales slowly, watching as the place changes a little under peter's command, hears him bounce between topics, landing on her sons.
the smile she offers is small, heading for the couch and taking a seat, letting the palm of her hand lay flat on the cloth of the cushion, feeling the texture on her skin.]
Billy and Tommy. [their names are full of warmth when she says them, and when she raises her head, away from staring at her hand, a single tear falls down her cheek; it's almost like she's been holding back on uttering their names, making it missing them all the worse. wanda's throat is tight as she swallows, looking over at peter.
it just feels less lonely, now. there is gratefulness in her eyes. she can trust peter.] No one else knows about them.
[her magic is useful in many occasions, and, in this case, it helps her with manipulating peter's domain. she doesn't touch it, though; instead, scarlet waves paint like gauche paint on paper, bringing forth the image of her sons to sit on the couch, tommy to her left, billy to her right. her arms are around them, holding them close to her. they're sketches of a memory, with no thought of their own, but they press to her, holding onto their mother.]
I brought them to the world with my magic. [in case he starts thinking about numbers and the maths and thinks that having 11-12 year olds doesn't make a lot of senseβ] But they couldn't stay.
[it's confusing, she knows, and perhaps it will throw a wrench into peter's attempt to understand the nuances of magic. wanda scrunches her nose and looks at him.]
You saw my brother, too.
[she remembers manipulating his memory to hold peter off.]
no subject
she exhales slowly, watching as the place changes a little under peter's command, hears him bounce between topics, landing on her sons.
the smile she offers is small, heading for the couch and taking a seat, letting the palm of her hand lay flat on the cloth of the cushion, feeling the texture on her skin.]
Billy and Tommy. [their names are full of warmth when she says them, and when she raises her head, away from staring at her hand, a single tear falls down her cheek; it's almost like she's been holding back on uttering their names, making it missing them all the worse. wanda's throat is tight as she swallows, looking over at peter.
it just feels less lonely, now. there is gratefulness in her eyes. she can trust peter.] No one else knows about them.
[her magic is useful in many occasions, and, in this case, it helps her with manipulating peter's domain. she doesn't touch it, though; instead, scarlet waves paint like gauche paint on paper, bringing forth the image of her sons to sit on the couch, tommy to her left, billy to her right. her arms are around them, holding them close to her. they're sketches of a memory, with no thought of their own, but they press to her, holding onto their mother.]
I brought them to the world with my magic. [in case he starts thinking about numbers and the maths and thinks that having 11-12 year olds doesn't make a lot of senseβ] But they couldn't stay.
[it's confusing, she knows, and perhaps it will throw a wrench into peter's attempt to understand the nuances of magic. wanda scrunches her nose and looks at him.]
You saw my brother, too.
[she remembers manipulating his memory to hold peter off.]