That voice was etched somewhere in the agonized haze of recent memory, but Wanda couldn't be sure what was real and what was a demonic trick meant to torment her. She opened her eyes again to gaze up at Daimon. He was a different sort of demon, a phantom manifestation of guilt and regret to haunt her last breaths. With her imagined trauma healed, her physical pain was stronger, spikier, more tangible with every passing moment. Wanda was aware that her body was dying, she knew that her mind would finally follow when the monster was out of it. But for now she had another demon to banish.
"Daimon," she whispered his name, reached up her hand to brush his jaw. Sensation was strange here, half real, ghostly fingers stroking spectral skin. "No," she finally moaned, "I can't. I'm sorry." The pain of death throbbed through all that was left of her being, the terrible voice urging her to give in gone, but not forgotten. Wanda was so tired of fighting, fighting death and fighting life. All she wanted now was the sweet release, the final and still nothing. No more pain or shame or struggle. She didn't want to know what terrible things she'd done, while her mind was in the dark. She didn't want to return to the people she hurt, to a life where her world was lost, to hopelessness and constant catastrophe. All the tragedy of her history, she was finished with.
"There's nothing for me, please, just let me go." The demon was horror, an enemy, but she couldn't battle it anymore. It was an end to her suffering, she would let it finish this.