|Elisabet (chovahani) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-10-05 04:32:00
|Entry tags:||!marvel comics, *narrative, wanda maximoff|
When: Shortly before her in progress thing with Jean
Where: Her rooms, Xavier Mansion
Warnings/Rating: Further descending
Sleep is a coiled serpent living inside her. The space between days isn't measured by the shift of day to night to day, or even in the amount of things dying around her, or the hunger pangs she no longer feels. It isn't measured in the breaths she feels rattling through her lungs and it seems like an eternity has passed when she blinks her eyes closed, open, closed.
There have been no more visitors since the soldier came, no communication outside of the last late night flurry of messages between she and her son. Nothing. She is waning. And in that space between one breath and the next, she falls asleep, that living visitor taking hold of her slumber to seize control.
The room abruptly shifts with the new inhabitant. It's hot and cold in rolling sprays, half the room devoted to fire continuously purring; the other half is the icy silence of a snowstorm, not even boughs breaking beneath the weight of frozen flakes. It's Wanda's body that rises from the bathtub, but she is merely the vessel. The driver has changed.
And the driver has plans.