She smiles, chuckling softly. Of all the things anyone has ever said about her hair, that has to be the kindest of them all.
"My hair was not always red," she says lightly. Wanda's in a good mood. It may be because of the people she's around—like-minded individuals, people who don't care that the Avengers' hanger-on is here with the ex-Sorceror Supreme.
It feels like confessing some deep, dark secret. Strange doesn't know who she used to be. He doesn't know that she used to favour blacks and deep reds and try and hide within the shadows so no one could see her while she studied them. But as time passed and she became less like the person she used to be (and had less, far, far less), she's grown lighter.
It seems a little backwards. Isn't she meant to grow darker the more she loses and finds herself lost?
"Like before your cloak," she cocks her head towards the sentient thing, "I used to have very dark hair. I liked black, too. But then I heard of you and I thought I would be kind and not make you feel intimidated by how well I can wear black."
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"My hair was not always red," she says lightly. Wanda's in a good mood. It may be because of the people she's around—like-minded individuals, people who don't care that the Avengers' hanger-on is here with the ex-Sorceror Supreme.
It feels like confessing some deep, dark secret. Strange doesn't know who she used to be. He doesn't know that she used to favour blacks and deep reds and try and hide within the shadows so no one could see her while she studied them. But as time passed and she became less like the person she used to be (and had less, far, far less), she's grown lighter.
It seems a little backwards. Isn't she meant to grow darker the more she loses and finds herself lost?
"Like before your cloak," she cocks her head towards the sentient thing, "I used to have very dark hair. I liked black, too. But then I heard of you and I thought I would be kind and not make you feel intimidated by how well I can wear black."
See? She can be kind.