[perhaps bucky's sister does not need to see this, but as the 'character' sweeps off stage, from her pulls forth wanda, actually, standing where the spotlight doesn't reach her, watching the scene unfold.

but before bucky can even think of using the knife, there's a snap of fingers.

darkness.

another snap.

and the lights turn back on, loudly.

the stage is the same: the kitchen, with the gaudy cake, but with a new addition now: there is a man on the floor, bucky's father, a pool of blood forming under him, and his sister is above him, driving the knife into his chest, over and over. there's a smattering of mischievous glee in her giggles, finding herself unable to stop.]

I did it! I did it!

[she exclaims, her hands soaked in blood, bruised from the impact into her father's chest.

and the lights turn off, again, but her laugh ricochets regardless.

the scene changes now, into a world more modern, brighter, more colorful. the apartment is small, but there is a clear choice of style here, of a happily married couple, with plans and dreams and expectations for their future. wanda's hair is not a shade of orange, but the dark auburn from when she first met the avengers. there's a ring on her finger, and she joins bucky, who finds himself sitting on the couch when the scene snaps to life.

she sits close, legs crossed, knee bumping against his thigh. she hands him a phone.]

Food will be here soon. [her accent is immaculate, american.] Who says we can't have fun night ins? We should send the kids off to sleepovers more often.

[an ideal life, realized, without the pains of the anticipation and the waiting.]