The dysphoria settled in before Wanda was even fully awake, but fear was familiar to her, an old friend, and so she hardly stirred at the warmth of a stranger under the sheets beside her. Where was she? she wondered, even as the voice in her head answered, tentatively, home? No, not really, no place had been "home" in over a decade. This home was a technicality; the tiny hovel of an apartment she and her brother shared in this teeming horrible city. Pietro.
Wanda tensed now and sat up suddenly in the semi-darkness, blinking against the watery sunlight filtering in between broken blinds. Her head was aching; she'd had too much to drink, a little experiment gone wrong, and somehow she'd managed to sneak this man into her bedroom and somehow she'd have to sneak him out again without her brother knowing. Too many questions, perhaps a fight, if he found out.