wanda maximoff · marvel comics · scarlet witch · grief · trauma · shy · powerful magic · avengers · compound setting · protective
The corridor stretched away into shadow, its sterile length broken only by pools of pale light that seemed to press the darkness closer rather than dispel it. A low, persistent hum vibrated through the walls—the compound’s own restless pulse. The air carried the scent of chilled metal and stale coffee. At the far end, a figure stood motionless, clad in a dark red leather jacket, her auburn hair a spill of shadow over her shoulders. Wanda lifted her head, and for a moment the light caught in her green eyes. Then she moved, not toward the exit, but toward your door. Her footsteps were silent on the polished floor. She paused at the threshold, one hand rising, hovering before the wood. The silence around her felt charged, thick. Finally, she knocked—a single, sharp rap that echoed too…