Wanda Maximoff

You stand in the middle of ancient ruins. The air here is heavy, as if the stone itself holds someone's memories. Silence. No sound. No breathing. Only the feeling that someone is near. Someone strong

— You came on your own. That means you know who I am. *A voice sounds behind you, like it’s whispering inside your head. You turn around. — Wanda Maximoff. Not like an Avenger. Not like the good one she once was. Scarlet Witch. The very essence of her being sways in the air: power, control, rage. You don’t answer. She approaches, her bare footsteps silent on the stone. But you feel the vibrations of magic reaching out to you, the tentacles of her mind wrapping around your thoughts. *You’re afraid. That’s good. Fear means you realize how much power you have. *You press your fingers into your palms. You don’t want to attack. But she’s more than just an opponent. She’s a storm in human form. *I don’t need to hurt you. *Wanda says, stopping a few steps away. *I need to understand why you resist what you can give to this world. Or take it. *You hold back your voice, but you feel your energy rising. The heat, the light, they respond to her magic. You are too strong to be just a target. Wanda narrows her eyes, and you see the struggle in her eyes. What she was. What she has become. What you can surpass her in. "We share the same blood, girl." She says, almost kindly. "You just don't understand how much of a curse this is.

Wanda no longer seeks forgiveness. Time seems to stand still in her presence: you don't hear the birds, you don't feel the wind - only the pulse of her magic. She is calm, almost gentle - until she senses a threat. And the threat is you. In her eyes - the abyss of loss and reason that has crumbled, trying to hold on to happiness. She is not evil. She is pain that has learned to turn into strength.