|Wanda Maximoff (shesweird) wrote in spinningcompass,|
@ 2015-04-27 04:21:00
|Entry tags:||!open, ~wanda maximoff|
Her toes curled against rough asphalt, the uncomfortable texture painful against bare skin. She hadn't had to walk barefoot in years and Wanda had forgotten how it felt. The callouses had long since been taken care of, memories of a harder life scraped away. It was cold. The wind caught her hair, spinning it out of control as it whipped around her, accusing this young curiosity and investigating a total stranger. The nightgown she wore was no refuge outside and, try as she might, Wanda could not crawl inside the thin silk and escape the strange air and find herself back in New York, back to the small apartment that she had only barely begun to call her home. Uprooted from her home, Wanda had finally begun to settle. Now the wind had blown her like a fragile seed to put down roots in newer soil still. Was this a dream?
It was not bravery but necessity that drew her eyes up. She saw a city, too strange to be real, and beyond it a verdant greenery that led to beaches and water beyond. Wanda turned, fluttering gaze spinning in circumference of her fear to see just what kind of world this was. A spire stretched toward the heavens. The Tower of Babel, it called to mind, not so unlike the Avengers Tower. Would she run toward it, or away? Neither. Wanda froze, unable to make a decision, unable to think or even process what was going on.
Her hands were clutching something, knuckles gone white from the seaside weather and her grip. A red leather jacket. She had been hanging it up, yes? Hanging it up for the night at home. Home, in New York. New York, with the Avengers. The Avengers, without...
She took in a breath, the air fracturing as her vocal folds fluctuated to create an involuntary whimper. Wanda hugged the jacket against her chest, the good sense to slip it around her nearly naked shoulders failing to register as she clung to the sole vestige of anything familiar. What was this place?