[there is a moment of silence between them—comfortable, as opposed to times before—and wanda walks along the path until she finds a bench. she sits, facing the cemetery, and kyle begins to speak.

he speaks of a world that was unkind to him and his sister, his parents. of priests and witches, and it strikes her how in more than one universe witches are burnt at the stake, seen as dangerous, wicked, vile. he reveals here his purpose, his 'fate', and, for wanda, it speaks so clearly of why he has been defensive when around her.

but he is wise and brave enough to understand that the things he was taught are not necessarily always right. there is strength in admitting being wrong, in facing the past and seeing the mistakes wrought in it, despite how shameful it may be.

wanda watches as the kids play around the tombstones, digging into the soil, laughing and whispering conspiracies of their imaginations at each other.]

You're not wrong to think I'm dangerous.

[he is more than allowed to think that. if he wants to be defensive around her, keep his guard up should they ever meet in person, wanda will not fault him for it. all wanda does is shrug, ultimately.]

None of them are real here. I had thought that if I buried my sons, I could finally put them to rest. [she saw a childhood lost in this small girl who is not a girl, but a skeleton others would find frightening. she saw in her her sons; she saw herself and her brother.] It's not healthy to cling on to them like this.

[she says that as much for him as for herself. to constantly haunt herself with their being here, losing herself for hours here in this small graveyard while the children play and talk to her— it should be worrisome.

and yet, wanda cannot stop herself.]

But it's difficult to let them go, knowing they can be here, isn't it?