WolfQueenKate

It enraged and terrified Erik at the same time, he wanted, needed, things to change but he couldn’t do anything lest he endanger his family. Should they be mutants, Pietro and Wanda would face harsh judgement and unjust hatred. For Erik, it was a dilemma that made his already sleepless nights more restless.

By the twins’ third birthday, Magda had began to worry, Pietro’s once chestnut hair was slowly growing out pure white; the local doctor had said it was probably down to some genetic trait and Erik was sure the man was correct, but not in the way he meant. Magda was well aware of the situation surrounding mutantkind, it was something the couple had spoken about more times than they’d like, however, it seemed like the thought that her children could have inherited their father’s genes hadn’t really crossed her mind, but once it had, it was all that occupied her thoughts.

The children never caught on or felt the rising concern in their parents, they were happy and never gave too much trouble; Pietro had a habit of wandering off whenever Erik or Magda took their eyes off him too long and had to be watched closely when taken to a store, unless he’d end up with a pocket full of grapes or something shiny to give to Wanda.

Wanda was quiet, she hardly spoke unless she desperately wanted something and always clung to her parents when they were out of the house. Despite the fact that she was the younger twin, mentally, she appeared older than her brother; understanding and learning quickly, she could read before Pietro had even bothered to look at a book.

By the twins fourth birthday, Erik’s bubble of familial happiness was showing signs it was close to bursting. Two weeks before Pietro and Wanda’s birthday, Magda had started to experience some health problems; erratic heartbeats, dizziness and even fainting on a few occasions.

Magda had tried to shrug off Erik’s concern and refused to have the village’s doctor see her. Her stubbornness had always been frustrating to Erik, but unlike in the past when he’d just laugh and shake his head with a twinkle of admiration in his eye, now it caused a feeling of weakness and desperation to the man.

It wasn’t until Erik came home from work to his children sobbing hysterically and their mother lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, that Magda allowed the doctor to visit. Erik stayed in the living room, playing with his children to distract himself while the doctor conducted his examination upstairs; after an hour, Dr. Balan descended the stairs with his head hung low and a sympathetic expression.

It continued for all of four months, for the first couple weeks Magda had tried to act like nothing had changed, that her loving heart wasn’t failing her, but quite quickly, she had become almost constantly bed bound, the medicine she took only dulled her pain. Magda still did what she could as a mother, reading to her children as they nestled into her side and watching while they played on her bedroom floor, unknowing of her ailment.

Erik had left his job immediately after her diagnosis, only ever leaving the house when the family was running dangerously low on food, however that was getting rarer as time went on; the village community, humans, had started to help the family after learning of Magda’s decline. Erik had, of course, tried to refuse their charity and kindness, his pride too strong to accept, but he had become too afraid of leaving the house, afraid that Magda would slip away while he was gone.

During her final days, was when Erik finally broke down completely. He couldn’t look after his children alone, they needed their mother, he needed his wife, but she had become a wilting beautiful flower; her eyes no longer shone, her skin an ashy grey. By this point, the children had noticed something was wrong but didn’t completely understand the severity of the situation and Erik didn’t know how to explain.

Magda was buried early on a Wednesday morning, only Erik and his twins in attendance, he refused to let anyone else be there. He stayed until Pietro and Wanda began to fuss due to hunger, he’d told them as best he could that their mother had gone, that she wasn’t in pain anymore, and no, Pietro, she wouldn’t be coming back in a couple of days.

The rest of the day was a numb blur for Erik, it wasn’t until he’d put his children to bed (which was a lot easier than it usually was as Pietro didn’t object in the slightest) that he realized just how quiet and dark the house seem. The place that once felt like a cosy little home just felt like a cluttered collection of rooms. Erik needed to leave.

During his crazier days, living life on the move had been the norm, sneaking across borders and slipping through blind-spots had been easy for him, but he knew he couldn’t drag his children around after him like that, they needed stability.

He knew he couldn’t stay in Romania, this was her country; Magda had always been very proud of her homeland, she’d never left and never planned to, which was the only reason he stayed. Originally, he’d only planned on staying in Romania for a night or two before crossing into Serbia, but then Magda appeared and he forgot Serbia and the plan.

Magda had Romani roots and as a child, she’d roamed the country with her family, until the Soviets invaded and the bombs fell. Magda lost so much at such a young age during the war, many of her family and friends were killed just for being ‘gypsies’, it was one of the reasons he’d clutched onto her; she knew, she understood how it felt, and yet she was a beautiful person, it hadn’t turned her cold or cynical like it had him, she was good, pure . . . his angel.

By Friday, Erik had made up his mind, helped by his ever-curious son. Ten minutes on his own and Pietro had rummaged through every drawer and cupboard in the living room, emptying the contents onto the floor; after calmly instructing the four year old to go play with his sister outside, Erik began shoving everything back into place until he came across a tatty letter that was faded with age.

Six years, would that be too long?

No, Erik thought sardonically, Raven would still be waiting. The feelings of disgust and anger at himself and pity and guilt for Raven twisted in his gut. But he needed help, Erik was not above admitting that, and Raven would walk through fire to help him . . . and he left her waiting in Serbia.

The day Erik received that letter, he’d went into full defense-mode, panicking that somebody from Magneto’s past, somebody so dangerous, knew where he was. Despite the lack of anger in the words, he still expected something, ‘Hell hath no fury’ and all that. He refused to let Magda out of his sight for almost a month, practically cutting off all contact with the outside world and not trusting anyone who came to the house; Erik still couldn’t understand why Magda would go on to marry him and birth his children, couldn’t she see the red flags?

The letter made it clear that Raven would wait, that he only had to say the word and she’d be there. But Erik kept mulling over the fact that it was Magneto Raven was loyal to, a man who commanded change and revolution; what would she think of him now?

Friday night, after putting his children to bed, Erik prepared to go into the village to use the telephone box; as he made the half mile walk, his mind kept flipping between the two possibilities: a part of him hoped that it would be too late, that the phone number on the letter wouldn’t work anymore, but then what could he do?

The other possibility was that it would work and he’d be able to get everything he needed to get himself and his children out of the country and start again elsewhere, and isn’t that what he wanted? Yes, but he didn’t want to dredge up the past, reconnect with his old life and have it taint his twins.

By the time Erik arrived at the phone box, he was on auto-pilot; he knew he needed to do and didn’t want to think too deeply about any of his decisions, just try to live in the moment and worry later. With the phone receiver in one clenched hand and the aged letter in the other, Erik dialled the number, held his breath and counted the rings.

One.

Two.

Thr –

Magda, naturally, thrived on motherhood, she shone with renewed vigor even while she was recovering from the birth. Something that had concerned Erik in the past was how isolated Magda was, living a mile from the closest village due to his constant paranoia had certainly limited their interaction with others, however now, she hardly minded; Pietro and Wanda were the only company she needed, not to mention the occasional visits from other mothers she’d befriended during her trips into the village.

 Working for long hours, five days a week had meant that Erik did miss out on his children’s development; he’d missed his son’s first wobbly steps as he attempted to follow Magda as she took the leftovers of Wanda’s lunch into the kitchen. Wanda soon managed walking after crossing the living room to the toy box.

He had also missed Pietro’s first word, “fish,” copied from his mother as she said aloud the things she was planning to buy during her shopping trip into the village. Erik didn’t have to wait long to hear it though, his son seemed to be proud of his newfound word and would repeat it whenever his parents would ask him a question.

Wanda’s first word, however, he was present for: “star”.

From early on, during the nights when Wanda couldn’t sleep, Erik had found that walking around outside the house had relaxed her, her olive-colored eyes staring up at the dark sky. He’d soon started to talk to her about the stars, the constellations, the planets, knowing that she wouldn’t comprehend the words but carried on nonetheless.