does that say something about him? wanda wants to believe that he just—cares, and through his caring, he just wants to understand. wanda is scared of showing him this much, but she can'tnot be honest with him. because peter deserves everything, her honesty, even all the ugly truths.
okay, she whispers back.
her hands, in a practiced motion, flare with her magic—familiar to peter, at this point, but different; wilder, stronger, darker. as her fingers twitch into the composition of the spell she will use, she momentarily hesitates, and meets his eyes.]
Whatever you think of me after this... I'll be okay with it.
[—with that, her magic starts to glow, a plume of it reaching towards peter, marring his eyes in scarlet, and throwing his consciousness to relive her memories. it's scattered, at first, but there's westview and wanda's struggle with taking down the hex, the battle that ensued with agatha, the prophecy in the darkhold. her having to say goodbye to her family in a familiar house—one peter will likely recognize from when she had accidentally trapped him within her chaos magic all those months ago; of familiar faces in tommy and billy.
because family is forever.
transported, then, to a lonely cabin, where her astral form would study the darkhold. the world around her growing in corruption, from what was once a lush place with green and trees and beauty, her own mind becoming warped the longer she spends reading from the pages of the book. it consumes her every waking thought, and she tries waltzing into worlds, dreamwalk through them, and that itself opens the gates for her dreams to show her these lives of hers, where she is happier and she has e v e r y t h i n g she wants.
only to wake up to immense loneliness, a world darkening in how meaningless it all feels.
and yet she is fueled, by the darkhold, the voices of corruption, making her believe that she can and should take what is rightfully hers. wanda does not fight it, and after two long years of this, she starts connecting with demons; terrifying, untamed, but they get bound to her, her runes dictating their actions. her fingers twitch as she puppets them, sees through their eyes—always stephen, protecting america, but she does not care to remove him from her way, her sole focus on the girl.
from there, peter will see how she pushes out of the shadows, finally, takes center stage in her own ploy to take america's powers. stephen strange and kamar-taj stand in her way, but not for too long. the mirror dimension traps her, and she brute forces her way out. a path of desperation and death leads her to another universe, where she kills so easily, murders those who stand in her way, until she finally gets america.
—and even then, she still sees herself, carved in stone, like an idol of pagan religions, meant to rule the cosmos or ultimately destroy it. but that's not what i want, she tells wong, turning to him. i just want my boys.
when she finally has america in her grasp, she's haunted by the master of the mystic arts and a legion of demons, calling her a murderer. exhausting her patience, making her even more desperate. until, until—
she sees her sons, terrified of her as she tries to convince that she is not a monster, that she could never hurt anyone.
except she did. and it is that moment of understanding, that brings her down to her knees, in front of the boys' real mother, this other self of her whose body wanda puppeteered and forced to commit such horrible crimes; this other her who saw her pain, in her dreams, and only offers know that they'll be loved as her only sole comfort.
wanda seems to come to her senses thereafter, the portal closing, as she shares one final moment with stephen strange. i opened the darkhold. only i can close it. no good byes, no heartfelt words for her, as she does not deserve them—after all she's done.
the world caves in around her and for one, blissful moment, she feels absolutely nothing.
peter may awaken now from his unconscious state, wanda's magic still twirling in her hands. enough, she thinks, her breathing heavy as she stops the spell, emotion wretched within her.]
no subject
does that say something about him? wanda wants to believe that he just—cares, and through his caring, he just wants to understand. wanda is scared of showing him this much, but she can't not be honest with him. because peter deserves everything, her honesty, even all the ugly truths.
okay, she whispers back.
her hands, in a practiced motion, flare with her magic—familiar to peter, at this point, but different; wilder, stronger, darker. as her fingers twitch into the composition of the spell she will use, she momentarily hesitates, and meets his eyes.]
Whatever you think of me after this... I'll be okay with it.
[—with that, her magic starts to glow, a plume of it reaching towards peter, marring his eyes in scarlet, and throwing his consciousness to relive her memories. it's scattered, at first, but there's westview and wanda's struggle with taking down the hex, the battle that ensued with agatha, the prophecy in the darkhold. her having to say goodbye to her family in a familiar house—one peter will likely recognize from when she had accidentally trapped him within her chaos magic all those months ago; of familiar faces in tommy and billy.
because family is forever.
transported, then, to a lonely cabin, where her astral form would study the darkhold. the world around her growing in corruption, from what was once a lush place with green and trees and beauty, her own mind becoming warped the longer she spends reading from the pages of the book. it consumes her every waking thought, and she tries waltzing into worlds, dreamwalk through them, and that itself opens the gates for her dreams to show her these lives of hers, where she is happier and she has e v e r y t h i n g she wants.
only to wake up to immense loneliness, a world darkening in how meaningless it all feels.
and yet she is fueled, by the darkhold, the voices of corruption, making her believe that she can and should take what is rightfully hers. wanda does not fight it, and after two long years of this, she starts connecting with demons; terrifying, untamed, but they get bound to her, her runes dictating their actions. her fingers twitch as she puppets them, sees through their eyes—always stephen, protecting america, but she does not care to remove him from her way, her sole focus on the girl.
from there, peter will see how she pushes out of the shadows, finally, takes center stage in her own ploy to take america's powers. stephen strange and kamar-taj stand in her way, but not for too long. the mirror dimension traps her, and she brute forces her way out. a path of desperation and death leads her to another universe, where she kills so easily, murders those who stand in her way, until she finally gets america.
—and even then, she still sees herself, carved in stone, like an idol of pagan religions, meant to rule the cosmos or ultimately destroy it. but that's not what i want, she tells wong, turning to him. i just want my boys.
when she finally has america in her grasp, she's haunted by the master of the mystic arts and a legion of demons, calling her a murderer. exhausting her patience, making her even more desperate. until, until—
she sees her sons, terrified of her as she tries to convince that she is not a monster, that she could never hurt anyone.
except she did. and it is that moment of understanding, that brings her down to her knees, in front of the boys' real mother, this other self of her whose body wanda puppeteered and forced to commit such horrible crimes; this other her who saw her pain, in her dreams, and only offers know that they'll be loved as her only sole comfort.
wanda seems to come to her senses thereafter, the portal closing, as she shares one final moment with stephen strange. i opened the darkhold. only i can close it. no good byes, no heartfelt words for her, as she does not deserve them—after all she's done.
the world caves in around her and for one, blissful moment, she feels absolutely nothing.
peter may awaken now from his unconscious state, wanda's magic still twirling in her hands. enough, she thinks, her breathing heavy as she stops the spell, emotion wretched within her.]