[It had been like awakening from a years-long dream, heavy with the breadth of experience and emotion and spellwork and even shreds of humility, long needed. Memories flooding in a slew of recollection, buffetting against the mind; it would be nearly enough to drive a man mad should they not have given themselves proper time to let it settle, let it decompress within.
Stephen Strange, ironically, does not like giving himself time. Especially not when the connections of then and now meld together like pieces of a broken blade resmithed again, giving him new context. Wanda had gone missing, a troubling thought before. Wanda had gone missing β a fearful thought now, and one that has Stephen flying into action only moments after he could sort through what he now knows. What time has gifted him, or so it feels.
It does not take long before heβs in the Horizon, seeking her. Finding nothing but crimson, billowing mist where there once was a swath of trees and a small little cabin overlooking a glittering lake. Stephen glances about, frowning deeply, his hand thumbing at the scarf around his neck β a borrowed thing, sent by a raven from Thor, belonging to Wanda herself.]
Whereβd you run off toβ¦?
[He mutters before his hands fall into their usual form of spellcasting; the easy, familiar gestures of uncomplicated magic, borrowing a plucked thread from the scarf itself. The location spell follows his fingers and hovers mid-air, warbling and amber, until Stephen spreads his hands and a halo of energy pulses outward.
This energy shimmers against a form in the distance, standing solitary against all else in the barren nothingness. He can see it now β a door. Stephen waves a hand to reveal it fully, and there it stands, stoic as a sentinel, and he is sure there must be someone on the other side.
He approaches and doesnβt bother to knock, reaching out to turn the knob and see what awaits him.]
for wanda.
Stephen Strange, ironically, does not like giving himself time. Especially not when the connections of then and now meld together like pieces of a broken blade resmithed again, giving him new context. Wanda had gone missing, a troubling thought before. Wanda had gone missing β a fearful thought now, and one that has Stephen flying into action only moments after he could sort through what he now knows. What time has gifted him, or so it feels.
It does not take long before heβs in the Horizon, seeking her. Finding nothing but crimson, billowing mist where there once was a swath of trees and a small little cabin overlooking a glittering lake. Stephen glances about, frowning deeply, his hand thumbing at the scarf around his neck β a borrowed thing, sent by a raven from Thor, belonging to Wanda herself.]
Whereβd you run off toβ¦?
[He mutters before his hands fall into their usual form of spellcasting; the easy, familiar gestures of uncomplicated magic, borrowing a plucked thread from the scarf itself. The location spell follows his fingers and hovers mid-air, warbling and amber, until Stephen spreads his hands and a halo of energy pulses outward.
This energy shimmers against a form in the distance, standing solitary against all else in the barren nothingness. He can see it now β a door. Stephen waves a hand to reveal it fully, and there it stands, stoic as a sentinel, and he is sure there must be someone on the other side.
He approaches and doesnβt bother to knock, reaching out to turn the knob and see what awaits him.]