[the memories crash into her like they were her own—a pulse of darkness, of torment. the dread she feels as her eyes take on the perspective of a young boy left at the bottom of the well, desperate and trying to cling to any amount of hope. emotion floods her, her fingers digging into the stone of the well's edge, the cries for help louder and louder, echoes ricocheting off the circular walls, the uncertainty of whether it would reach the top at all. they would all project back this certainty that he would die there.
and the mockery of it all, of someone older, pushing at her back, feeling that hatred, that overwhelming sense of maliciousness, and wanda gets the impression— that it comes from someone close, or meant to be close. there is familiarity in this feeling, of something brotherly, but completely the opposite of what wanda knows and understands, with pietro.
she tries to push herself away from the gravitational pull of the memories that drag her toward the bottom of the well. it's a strong hold it has on her, this feeling of giving up, a constant end result to endeavors that take everything away from her; so she tries to focus instead on what—despite being a memory—is still full of love, full of happiness (memories of her family, of her brother, of vision—), finally pulling back from the well, as if it were a magnet ensnaring her metallic limbs.
wanda heaves as she catches her breath, stumbling on her feet but bracing herself, arms crossed tightly as if trying to remove the severe cold she felt from sharing in those memories—trying to remove the feelings of being abandoned and forgotten still heavy on the forefront of her mind. she turns her head to the source of where it all stems from, because this is external; this doesn't come from her.
no subject
and the mockery of it all, of someone older, pushing at her back, feeling that hatred, that overwhelming sense of maliciousness, and wanda gets the impression— that it comes from someone close, or meant to be close. there is familiarity in this feeling, of something brotherly, but completely the opposite of what wanda knows and understands, with pietro.
she tries to push herself away from the gravitational pull of the memories that drag her toward the bottom of the well. it's a strong hold it has on her, this feeling of giving up, a constant end result to endeavors that take everything away from her; so she tries to focus instead on what—despite being a memory—is still full of love, full of happiness (memories of her family, of her brother, of vision—), finally pulling back from the well, as if it were a magnet ensnaring her metallic limbs.
wanda heaves as she catches her breath, stumbling on her feet but bracing herself, arms crossed tightly as if trying to remove the severe cold she felt from sharing in those memories—trying to remove the feelings of being abandoned and forgotten still heavy on the forefront of her mind. she turns her head to the source of where it all stems from, because this is external; this doesn't come from her.
it's someone she recognizes.]
Sylvain?