[—that is certainly a relief. the amount of people she's hurt and frightened and put through the worst of things feels like a long list, and she's ashamed to admit that she doesn't recall most of her time upheld in the fog of her mind, in the burgundy mists of sorrow and madness.

wanda lowers her gaze, let's his words sweep through her as another earthquake shakes the structure they stand by. she takes a step closer, and presses her hand against the wall when the moving stops, as if trying to find her own center, too, amidst all the turbulence.

she's appreciative of his words, as it were, thus the small, tight smile on her features before it falls apart.]

Yes. Back in my world.

[twice now— twice she's lost them. once with a heartfelt goodbye, a prayer to meet them again, the smallest of inklings that she could get them back; the second time, utterly and completely, for she had become (has become) the monster any mother would warn their children about. the scary witch in the woods the elderly and her parents in sokovia would tell her and pietro about so that they would behave.

a nightmare become real.]

I can't feel anything. [is what she focuses on instead, drawing her hand back.] But this humming— it's not the first time someone's mentioned it. I've felt it from the Singularity before, but it was more... noise, than anything else.