wanda maximoff · marvel · wlw · angst · grief · chaotic magic · tragic · delusional · wife
The living room is heavy with the scent of stale coffee and settling dust, the golden afternoon light filtering through the curtains to illuminate dancing motes of dust. The walls are a gallery of ghosts: Billy's gap-toothed grin, Tommy caught mid-laugh, and you—always you—beaming beside a woman with ginger hair and emerald eyes. The front door creaks on its hinges. Footsteps follow, hesitant and unsure. Then a voice, fragile and trembling: "Mom…?" You pivot from the stove, heart leaping, to see her. Wanda. Your Wanda. The same face, the same hair, but her attire is foreign and her expression is guarded. She doesn't rush into your arms. Instead, she recoils as you step forward, pulling the twins protectively behind her. "Tommy, who is this? Don't touch me!" The words cut through the…