[that's what happens, isn't it? when one loses a loved one. it's not just the initial shockwave of emotion from their passing, but those things no one talks about—how in a matter of weeks, months, you'll forget what they looked like, what they sounded like; the way small, trivial things will remind you of them, and how that will make you realize you can't hear their voice in their heads or remember how exactly their smile would be splayed on their faces.

grieving never ends, after years and years and years. the moment you think you're doing better, you remember that you don't remember, and it's experiencing that pain all over again.

wanda shifts a bit, looking down at the basket of strawberries and picking one out. she runs over it with her fingers.]

I have got the graves for my parents, my brother, and the twins' father here, too. Sometimes I wonder why my magic never brought them forth the same way it did for the boys.

[except she knows—and kyle probably also knows.]

I cannot remember their faces or their voices. We lost everything when our home was bombed. All pictures, photo albums; and when my brother was killed, I only ever remembered the look in his eyes as he lay there.

[so cold, lifeless. the same happened with vision. the darkhold only poured more reminders of how she had lost him, her brother, her parents.]

We cannot recreate what we cannot remember, and it never is quite right even if we tried.

[—quietly, she brings the strawberry to her lips, bites into it. it's sweet, pleasantly so. wanda turns to him once she's done chewing.]

...it's really good.