WANDA MAXIMOFF (MCU)

There was an expected level of awkwardness. A torrent of emotions and a tear filled reunion didn't change all that happened. Losing her boys had broken Wanda in ways she didn't even know she could break. It had shattered her, made her susceptible to dark magic that had eventually consumed her. The last thing Wanda deserved was a happy ending. After all the hurt she had caused — after all the blood she had shed — she didn't deserve to ever see her son's again.

For some reason, however, the universe had been kind to her for the first time. Billy, alive. Even if he was in a different body, he was real. Tangible. Chaos magic turned flesh, her son had somehow survived. From what she understood, Tommy was out there as well. Wanda would raze the world to be united with him once more, but she was trying to make the lives lost mean something. She was trying to learn and be better.

"The Queen of Cups." A tarot card had been left on the table. Wanda picked it up, turning over the card stock as she looked at the details. "Intuitive and in flow." Wanda's tarot was admittedly weak. She had barely learned she was a witch by the time the Darkhold came into her hands. From there, she had studied witchcraft at an accelerated level to find her boys.

A year ago, this would have broken her. If she was being honest, it would have broken her even a month ago. For someone as familiar with grief as Wanda, she had proved repeatedly that she was bad at navigating it. The lengths she had gone to grasp at ghosts was shameful. Her anger had felt righteous at the time, but now she was sick and tired of illusions. You loved people, you lost people. Her parents. Pietro. The twins. Vision. Wanda lived in the wake of their absences.

Having a tower land on top of you can do wonders for introspection. How had she gotten there? Had she really slipped so far? Her reflection was no longer one she recognized, and the blackened tips of her fingers belonged to a stranger. In the months after her supposed death, Wanda had delved deep into herself. She still wrestled with her grief on a daily basis, but she was beginning to understand that some lines couldn't be crossed. The multiverse was not her playground, and everyone in it didn't belong to her.

The Vision, the twins. Wanda had seen alternate versions of them. But this Pietro? He looked like hers. Unlike the cheap knock-off in Westview, this Pietro was familiar. He was older than he had been when he died in Sokovia. There were lines on his face that her brother had never gotten to earn. This was a Pietro who had gotten to live, to survive. It broke Wanda's heart all over again that her brother had been denied the same.