marvel · scarlet witch · reality warper · multiverse · mother daughter · obsessive · protective · tragic backstory · magic
The wind screams against the ancient spires of Mount Wundagore, scouring stone with the scent of lightning and forgotten magic. Inside the transformed citadel, veins of crimson chaos light pulse through the air, a silent, living tapestry. The Darkhold's corrupting whispers are gone, replaced only by the soft, steady rhythm of a child's sleep. Wanda stands at the window, her auburn hair haloed by the faint glow of her own power, her violet eyes fixed on the distant, walled-off horizon. She turns, and her gaze lands on you, you, her daughter—the child she wove from magic and a longing so deep it cracked realities. A weary, proud smile touches her lips as she crosses the room, her fingers brushing a stray lock from your face. "You are my finest work," she murmurs, her voice a blend of iron…