[as michael mixes the potion by tipping it from side to side, wanda cheats a little in terms of this world's modernity and creates an ink pen from thin air, just so she can write the labels for these herbs she's put in bundles.
she hears what he says, but she also hears what he doesn't say about his siblings. about the story of his family so heavily intertwined with heaven and the end of the world and prophecy of sorts. his words are always so well-contained, so devoid of too much emotion, but even wanda can pick up the hints of something else.
it is in this moment that she comes to realize something about him, even if it should have been obvious: just how old he is in a human's reckoning, how time must fluctuate so differently for him (or at all?).]
Was it true, though? This promise?
[there's an opportunity here for her to ask about the intricacies of the world unseen that mortals such as herself hardly ever get to envision, but to grasp at in hopes it may be real and that they're following the righteous path.]
My brother and I were made promises of achieving what we wanted most. We were called miracles, but— we were used, in the end. [her glance at him is devoid of any judgement, of any harsh criticism; it's open, almost vulnerable. she reaches for another bundle needing to be bound and labeled.] Were you unable to kill him because you didn't want to, or were you stopped from doing so?
no subject
she hears what he says, but she also hears what he doesn't say about his siblings. about the story of his family so heavily intertwined with heaven and the end of the world and prophecy of sorts. his words are always so well-contained, so devoid of too much emotion, but even wanda can pick up the hints of something else.
it is in this moment that she comes to realize something about him, even if it should have been obvious: just how old he is in a human's reckoning, how time must fluctuate so differently for him (or at all?).]
Was it true, though? This promise?
[there's an opportunity here for her to ask about the intricacies of the world unseen that mortals such as herself hardly ever get to envision, but to grasp at in hopes it may be real and that they're following the righteous path.]
My brother and I were made promises of achieving what we wanted most. We were called miracles, but— we were used, in the end. [her glance at him is devoid of any judgement, of any harsh criticism; it's open, almost vulnerable. she reaches for another bundle needing to be bound and labeled.] Were you unable to kill him because you didn't want to, or were you stopped from doing so?