Who worries about returning a book? Wanda rolls her eyes and lets him guide her, although the process is much more difficult than she remembers. It's like walking through skating without blades on her shoes. She isn't quite certain if she's moving at all. Is he even reaching for her? Is she even slipping beyond the surface?
The cracks are thick enough to slide through. The ice beneath her feet falls. But the water around her is far too icy. This used to be seamless; it used to feel like flying. His mind should feel like a blank piece of paper for her to scribble upon.
Her right temple thumps. Wanda ignores it. Hadn't she done that before, a long time ago? Instead of a dimly lit and well-stocked library, it had been the dull, grey prison of HYDRA.
She disallows its entrance and focuses on Stephen. She lets his thoughts roll over her, but they feel sharp. All her efforts push back on her mind wishing to take over, to find something normal, to ensure that this isn't a trick by Strange—
She slams the door on Stark. Sharp throbbing pounds behind her eye. Wanda glares at him, feeling…
"No," she snaps. "Not him."
Attending his funeral hadn't been her choice, nor did it bring her closure. She doesn't wish for him to haunt her here, either. Not now. Not when Stephen Strange is trying to trust her, and she him.
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Who worries about returning a book? Wanda rolls her eyes and lets him guide her, although the process is much more difficult than she remembers. It's like walking through skating without blades on her shoes. She isn't quite certain if she's moving at all. Is he even reaching for her? Is she even slipping beyond the surface?
The cracks are thick enough to slide through. The ice beneath her feet falls. But the water around her is far too icy. This used to be seamless; it used to feel like flying. His mind should feel like a blank piece of paper for her to scribble upon.
Her right temple thumps. Wanda ignores it. Hadn't she done that before, a long time ago? Instead of a dimly lit and well-stocked library, it had been the dull, grey prison of HYDRA.
She disallows its entrance and focuses on Stephen. She lets his thoughts roll over her, but they feel sharp. All her efforts push back on her mind wishing to take over, to find something normal, to ensure that this isn't a trick by Strange—
She slams the door on Stark. Sharp throbbing pounds behind her eye. Wanda glares at him, feeling…
"No," she snaps. "Not him."
Attending his funeral hadn't been her choice, nor did it bring her closure. She doesn't wish for him to haunt her here, either. Not now. Not when Stephen Strange is trying to trust her, and she him.