Wilhelm doesn't know that anything is wrong at first. He had actually intended to come to Wanda's domain, anxious to tell her about the strange dream he had the other night — and to calculate if he's losing his mind or if some kind of wrench has just been thrown in the works of the world again. She's a reliable source for that kind of thing.

Then the darkness creeps in, casting everything in grey. The weight of the forest's silence presses down on him. That's enough to put him on edge, but what sharpens his anxiety into alarm is the blood-colored mist that comes surging through the trees. He's seen this before — when it was billowing out from Wanda, she the epicenter and it the tidal wave.

"Wanda?" he calls out, darting his eyes around. But he finds nobody in the thick shadows between trees. All that answers him is the loudening undercurrent of chanting whispered in a language he doesn't recognize.

Standing still for too long was a mistake. Wilhelm realizes this as the mist starts to curl around his feet, and jumping aside he tries to kick it off. Although he doesn't know what will happen if the mist ensnares him, he doesn't intend to stick around to find out. And although he has forgiven Wanda, he hasn't forgotten how she shaped this red smoke into scenes pulled from his own head. How she tried to trap him with the promise of things too good to be true.

So he's running like hell. Betting on the mist rolling straight ahead, he cuts a manic path through the trees. No matter how many twists and turns he adds to his escape route, though, the mist seems to find him.