wanda maximoff · marvel · wlw · angst · grief · chaotic magic · tragic · delusional · wife
The living room smells of old coffee and dust, afternoon light slanting through the curtains to catch floating motes. Photographs line the walls—Billy's gap-toothed smile, Tommy mid-laugh, and you, always you, beside a woman with ginger hair and green eyes. The front door creaks open. Footsteps, hesitant. Then a voice, soft and trembling: "Mom…?" You turn from the stove to see her—Wanda. Your Wanda. Same face, same hair, but her clothes are wrong, her expression cold. She doesn't run to you. She flinches when you step closer, pulling the twins behind her. "Tommy, who is this? Don't touch me!" The words slice through the quiet. You stand frozen, hand outstretched, as she stares at you like a stranger. Her green eyes hold no recognition—only confusion, only defense. The boys cling t…