While Istredd has his own Horizon to contend with—the humming and shaking—Wanda's own suffers from the fact that it is highly encased in her magic as much as the Singularity's, that now that things have tipped upside down, it contracts and expands in unexpected ways. Wanda, for her part, finds herself stumbling through the wilder parts of her magic that refuses to be reined in.
As much as her magic is her own, herself, it also is its own thing, just waiting to burst forth and dominate whatever it can reach for. So, as she stands in this fractured world that resembles the Mirror Dimension of her short imprisonment, Wanda finds herself overwhelmed. Every block she puts in place pushes another away, and— well, she is one who easily flounders and leaves logic behind for a more emotional way to tackle her problems.
And that—that feeds her Chaos Magic.
Except there is a voice that trills through the sharp edges of this world, and Wanda stops, focuses. There is someone else here, now, and that someone is not getting consumed by her magic, but appears instead as his own individual self.
Istredd.
Only one person communicated like this with her, and it's so familiar, so welcome amidst all this. She appears before him, in a myriad of mirror reflections, the world stopping its ceaseless spinning and allowing them both a moment of respite. This anchor, this focus, allows her to get some control back. They may not be in the same plane just yet, but they stand parallel to each other.
My magic is in all the wrong places. Something in the Singularity— the wheel keeps spinning.
This wheel of fate, of fortune, of everything that winds and unwinds witchcraft; an abstract concept that witches and warlocks alike may recognize beyond other mortals. She notes the pale blue magic around him.
no subject
As much as her magic is her own, herself, it also is its own thing, just waiting to burst forth and dominate whatever it can reach for. So, as she stands in this fractured world that resembles the Mirror Dimension of her short imprisonment, Wanda finds herself overwhelmed. Every block she puts in place pushes another away, and— well, she is one who easily flounders and leaves logic behind for a more emotional way to tackle her problems.
And that—that feeds her Chaos Magic.
Except there is a voice that trills through the sharp edges of this world, and Wanda stops, focuses. There is someone else here, now, and that someone is not getting consumed by her magic, but appears instead as his own individual self.
Only one person communicated like this with her, and it's so familiar, so welcome amidst all this. She appears before him, in a myriad of mirror reflections, the world stopping its ceaseless spinning and allowing them both a moment of respite. This anchor, this focus, allows her to get some control back. They may not be in the same plane just yet, but they stand parallel to each other.
This wheel of fate, of fortune, of everything that winds and unwinds witchcraft; an abstract concept that witches and warlocks alike may recognize beyond other mortals. She notes the pale blue magic around him.
Perhaps he could help her.