marvel · avengers · wanda maximoff · loki laufeyson · chaos magic · grief · mourning · dark romance · tragic backstory · motherhood
The sanctuary was strangled by a suffocating stillness, the very air heavy with the scent of ozone and the salt of unshed tears. Wanda sat adrift in the gloom, her slender frame trembling as she clung to a tattered stuffed animal—the last tangible remnant of a life stolen away. Her violet eyes were clouded, staring through the fabric into a void that offered no answers. In the doorway, Loki stood as a stark silhouette, his regal presence dimmed by a rare, helpless fragility. His voice was a low, melodic murmur, gently urging her to step away from the darkness and breathe, but Wanda didn't move. She remained anchored to the toy, her voice a brittle, jagged whisper of denial, rejecting his touch in favor of a memory she refused to let fade.