Elisabet (chovahani) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-06-30 01:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, wanda maximoff |
Narrative: Wanda M
Who: Wanda
What: Where oh where is the Scarlet Witch
Where: Her rooms, Xavier Mansion
When: Currentish
Warnings/Rating: Dark stuff
This was reality in flux. Wanda was still in her garden, not the garden she wished for, but the dying one she dreamt of, everything in mottled shades of gray to decaying black.
It was beginning to feel like home.
Time passed in warp revolutions. Days outside were condensed to what felt like seconds inside and the thing under her ribs, the her-not-her was beginning to settle, soak into her organs and cells like twins melding in the womb. Two becoming one.
She breathed in. She breathed out. Scratched at the line on her abdomen where she'd been cut open - there wasn't even a scar now, nothing but the red lines of her nails where it should be.
Off in the corner a cicada chirped. Or was it a cricket? Chirp, chirp, chirp. A noise that promised the living and not the dying and thus was out of place. It had to go; leave this sad, sorry unsaturated funeral. It took her a minute to find the little racket maker, the bug continuing to chirp against her palm before she hurled it out of a cracked window. (The door of her rooms opened briefly, only long enough for her to fling the contents of her hand out - her Avengers comm shot out of her hand, smacked against the opposite wall, and landed broken-winged dead bug on the floor as her door slammed shut.)
All was silent. And all was still, once she laid down on the cracked cement tiles again. They were coffin hard and grave cool, but it was the latter she imagined soaking into her skin, easing tension out of her muscles and the pain out of her head.