[close your eyes, she asks of him, as it does not matter that he can't actually see. one of her hands press against his forehead, pulling back just so that she uses her magic to share these memories that have become so unfocused to her.
—but she adds bits and pieces with her imagination, the missing edges, lines that she thinks make sense. her magic has always been unable to accurately bring out her own memories, as it were. matt will get to see, though, like an eye-fish lens, through the eyes of wanda, the crude lines of the cold war aesthetic of her childhood home: her mother at the kitchen setting things up for dinner, while on the same table pietro sits, kicking his legs and getting wanda on the shins every other time—oh, sorry, whispered without much sense of apology—and trying to do his math homework—or was it reading? wanda's eyes pull downward to her own homework—ah, geometry, actually—only diverting her gaze elsewhere when her dad comes in from the front door, with his bags and jackets and lots of love to give—a kiss to the top of her head, then pietro's, before embracing his wife who tries to maneuver around his arms, playfully, a casserole in her hands.
the memory ebbs out, her hand returning towards her lap.]
I've forgotten so many things about them. [their faces were a little vague, uncertain at times.] But I will never forget how much they loved each other. How much my parents showed me and Pietro that they loved us.
no subject
—but she adds bits and pieces with her imagination, the missing edges, lines that she thinks make sense. her magic has always been unable to accurately bring out her own memories, as it were. matt will get to see, though, like an eye-fish lens, through the eyes of wanda, the crude lines of the cold war aesthetic of her childhood home: her mother at the kitchen setting things up for dinner, while on the same table pietro sits, kicking his legs and getting wanda on the shins every other time—oh, sorry, whispered without much sense of apology—and trying to do his math homework—or was it reading? wanda's eyes pull downward to her own homework—ah, geometry, actually—only diverting her gaze elsewhere when her dad comes in from the front door, with his bags and jackets and lots of love to give—a kiss to the top of her head, then pietro's, before embracing his wife who tries to maneuver around his arms, playfully, a casserole in her hands.
the memory ebbs out, her hand returning towards her lap.]
I've forgotten so many things about them. [their faces were a little vague, uncertain at times.] But I will never forget how much they loved each other. How much my parents showed me and Pietro that they loved us.