Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.
The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.
Paolo Uccello, 1456
This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10
Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up
Unknown artist, c. 1505
This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10
Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this
Raphael, 1505
We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael
Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ
The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401
We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10
Horse thoughts: Dehhhh
Book of Hours, c. 1480
Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10
Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening
Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:
Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432
I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10
Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever
Unknown artist, c. 15th century
I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die
Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack
Book of Hours, c. 1450
Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away
Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed
Book of Hours, c. 1415
This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10
Horse thoughts: ....yikes
And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road
Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.
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SCARLET & SHADOW
ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ
[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]
series masterlist & synopsis • thera's masterlist
chapter one.
▪︎ once upon a dream ▪︎
Aleksander had dreams of you long before he even knew you. Maybe it was the stress of this neverending war. Either way, you weren't real anyway... were you?
warnings: the darkling himself is a warning lol, mentions of experimentation, violence, and wallowing in self-regret, no beta we die like wanda
word count: 3.9k
(author's note: yay! finally, after weeks of debating if i should write this, i did. and i can finally sleep in peace.)
Dreams.
He's been having some immensely strange dreams lately. There was always a... woman whose face he could never see. Aleksander had started seeing her in his dreams about a year ago.
It had all been so blurry at first, but he could recall a woman in what seemed to be like a cage encased in clear glass. Her back was turned to where he was, but her hands were covered in unworldly, crimson... vapor... or whatever it was. It was unlike anything he's ever seen before. The woman had been using the red mist to lift wooden blocks into the air. Vaguely, he also heard whispers of men with foreign accents speaking, as if he were beside them but not.
"The dead will be buried so deep their ghosts won't be able to find them."
"And the survivors?"
"The twins." The voice sounded gleeful. Proud. "Sooner or later they will meet the twins."
"It's not a world of spies anymore. Not even a world of heroes. This is the age of miracles, doctor."
Aleksander did not understand the context of these dreams at all. However, he listened, watching the faceless woman make the wooden blocks hover in the air.
"And there is nothing more horrifying... than a miracle."
Snap!
That was his first dream about her. He woke up with a start after that, not feeling like himself the whole day. As if he were in some sort of daze.
The next dream came again weeks later. The Darkling could never see the woman's face. This time, he heard screaming in his dreams. Crying. Devastation. All he saw that night was a burst of crimson energy which had obliterated metal. Moving metal.
The woman was kneeling at the center of some sort of dilapidated chapel, clutching her heart as she sobbed. Then, he woke up again. This time, he felt a bottomless emptiness within him that lasted until the next evening.
"Strange dreams," Aleksander thinks, but still, thinks nothing of it. Perhaps it was his imagination running wild lately due to the stress of the war. The dreams would come and go. Sometimes, there was nothing. Other times, it was the usual nightmares of his... eventful past. Occasionally, the faceless woman would be there in his dreams.
On the first day snow fell that year, the Shadow Summoner sees her in his dreams again. Sitting in a bedroom, silent and pondering. One moment later, she was sitting in what seemed like a metal cell, straitjacketed, unmoving. The more he had these dreams of her, the more curious Aleksander grew about what the woman looked like. These were supposed to be only dreams, yet, it was always her.
Were these truly just dreams?
Eventually, the dreams become nightmares. Not his typical nightmares, either.
He was starting to hear whispers of what nearly seemed like Old Ravkan, but not. He saw the woman surrounded by mirrors and sharp glass, with more blood, death, and gore. Screams of a hundred souls. Fire burning. The smell of ash. The cracking and snapping of bones.
The last that he saw of her at night was in what seemed like a strange, old tomb atop a mountain.
Aleksander saw a stone statue of a woman—a goddess, maybe—with a pointed crown. Seconds later, he saw that very tomb crushed into a landslide. A blizzard. So much snow.
That night, the Black Heretic woke up cold and freezing despite the fireplace burning strong.
After that, the dreams and nightmares of the unknown woman stopped completely. And he'd nearly forgotten about it all. Tired from reading another list of his newly-deceased soldiers up in Ulensk, the man decided to take a stroll in the gardens of his Little Palace.
ᱬᗢᱬ
"No more magic." That was what you had sworn to yourself after the millennia you had spent searching for and destroying every copy of the Darkhold in the Multiverse. It was an incredibly wearisome task to track them all down, but you despised yourself for falling for the temptations of the Book of the Damned.
What have you done?
Not a day passes when you don't ask yourself the question, plagued by the guilt of your sins to the Multiverse. Ultimately, you accepted the fact that as the Scarlet Witch, you were maybe meant to be alone. Fated for eternal solitude until Death finally decides it is time to end your life again.
"I should have stayed dead in the Snap," you chuckle humorlessly. Maybe you would have been happier. But from experience, being snapped was no afterlife. You did not see them. Your parents, Pietro, Vision, Billy, and Tommy. You could only remember the fresh, hot rage you felt at Vision's murder just for the Snap. There was no peace.
Not for you, maybe.
The last world that had a Darkhold was... quite interesting, to say the least. It was not as advanced as your world, Earth-616, but not too primitive, either. It could be likened to the 19th to the 20th century in your original planet, with all its horses, carriages, wooden ships, and steam trains. Very... Industrial Era, you described when you initially arrived. Good enough to survive for, hopefully, the few remaining years of your life.
What was interesting, however, was the specific land you found yourself in. Ravka.
It was something literally out of Czarist Russia, long before the Soviet Union was formed. It led you to thoughts of your late best friend and mentor, Natasha Romanoff... then the World Wars... then Steve Rogers... SHIELD... which led you to spiral into quite unpleasant memories of experiments with HYDRA and consequently, Ultron and Sokovia. Lagos. Westview. Kamar-Taj. Earth-838 and the Illuminati—
You stopped that sickening train of thought quickly.
Still, you found it half-amusing and half-disappointing that even universes away, war and politics were unavoidable. Ravka appeared to not be on very good terms with its northern and southern neighbors, Fjerda and Shu Han, respectively. (The Shu reminded you of China and Mongolia. You wondered if they had Khans there, too. Fjerda, on the other hand, reminded you of Thor, Valkyrie, and a certain God of Mischief.)
Now, one of the biggest reasons why Ravka was at war with Fjerda and Shu Han? People called Grisha, you quickly learned. Kind of like the Enhanced or the Mutants, in your world and other worlds. It was just that they could mainly be divided into different orders and classifications and were usually found serving the Second Army.
Either way, it did not make much of a difference to you. You had met a living tree and a talking raccoon in the fight against Thanos so... yes, not the strangest thing you'd seen in the universe. You didn't really care, but you did feel some empathy for the Grisha oppressed by the otkazat'sya. Ordinary humans.
You knew all too well what it felt like to be different in a world full of regular people.
Unfortunately, Ravka itself was also at civil war between its East and West because of a border practically made of darkness. The Shadow Fold, supposedly created four hundred years ago by a crazy Shadow Summoner titled the Black Heretic. Many prayed for a mythical Sun Summoner to come save them from their plights.
You internally scoffed. You yourself were a myth, the presaged Harbinger of Chaos. The Scarlet Witch, destined to rule or annihilate the cosmos. Maybe you already ruined it. You just hoped that if the Sun Summoner were real, they would be a true saint and do their "destined" good deed.
And a small part of you hoped that they, too, would either escape or fulfill their prophecy. Maybe live a happy life, unlike you did. No one ever thinks that myths and legends could be living, breathing, feeling people, too.
ᱬᗢᱬ
Cut off from your thoughts by two young boys bumping into you, the basket of apples you were holding tumbles to the ground. You were about to scold them when you saw the state they were in.
One of the boys was holding a damn toddler.
All three of them dressed in rags, covered in soot and dirt. Thin and malnourished, nearly shivering from the autumn cold. Your heart almost broke when you saw the small girl in their arms try to reach out for the fallen apples on the ground.
"Sorry, lady!" The boys shout, turning on their heels to keep running.
"Wait!" You yell after them. "Do you want an apple?!"
That made the boys stop in their tracks. You pick up the apples and carefully place them back in the woven basket you were carrying. They seemed apprehensive on trusting you, so it was you who decided to make the first move.
"Here. Have the entire basket. You kids need it more than I do."
One of the boys, a pale boy with bright blue eyes and curly black hair past his shoulders, hesitantly reaches out to take the basket you were offering. "Thank you... lady..." he mumbles. The other boy holding the girl—looking nearly the opposite of his friend—reassured the fussy toddler in his arms. This boy was tanner, looking as if his hair were kissed by fire itself; eyes the shade of a vibrant forest.
"What are your names?" you gently asked. They share a look, silently communicating, then nod.
"... Henrik," the blue-eyed boy answers quietly, inspecting the basket of apples, still torn on thinking if this was a trick or a rare act of kindness. He seemed more conservative than his friend, who answered in a louder voice.
"I'm Dmitri, lady!" He was more eager to talk after realizing you were no threat to them. He gestures to the tiny girl in his arms, no older than three. "And this is baby Katyusha."
Your heart nearly broke seeing the sleepy toddler carried around by her... brother? You look around. It was getting dark. "Where are your homes? Your parents? It's late for children like you to be out in the evening."
"It's just us, lady," Henrik answers, as if it were normal to not have an adult accompanying them.
You frowned deeper. "Why were you guys running?"
At my question, the boys grow concerned. "Because..." Dmitri begins, before Henrik shushes him. You shake your head.
"No, it's okay. What is it?" You try to encourage.
"The three of us... we are Grisha" Dmitri whispers, green eyes filled with guilt and fear. Your eyes widened. Including the toddler they were holding? "The townspeople aren't exactly welcoming to our kind, lady. Except you. Weirdly enough."
Henrik, the quiet one with blue eyes, sighs. "I'm a Tidemaker. I think. Dmitri here can control some fire, so Inferni, if I'm right. Maybe that's why his hair is that red..."
Dmitri snorts. "Whatever."
You almost stammer as you ask, "And Katyusha there?"
"... We think she's a Heartrender. When... she gets angry or hungry or fussy... sometimes, we feel like we can't breathe, whenever she holds us," Henrik explains, gazing at the tiny little girl, who looked ever innocent and adorable.
"Where are your parents?" you ask carefully. You prayed to the gods, the saints, and the fates that these children had grown-ups to look after them. Unlikely, though, based on how they looked.
Dmitri shook his head, "My mom worked at a brothel but died from tuberculosis. I then lived on the streets after that. Henrik was left on somebody's doorstep. And Katyusha... we found her in a garbage can. The three of us used to live together in a hut east of the chapel but... um, the storm last week..." He trailed off.
Three young Grisha orphans.
No family. No shelter. No food. You stared at the three of them, voices inside you urging you to be on your way and avoid getting attached to these orphans. To avoid getting attached to people ever again.
But it was too late. You already saw yourself in them.
It was like you and Pietro, once upon a time, long ago.
Sighing, you hold out your arms. You knew you might regret this in the future.
"Give me the little girl. And you boys, follow me," you instruct. They give you questioning looks.
"Huh?"
"You're all coming home with me. To bathe and eat and sleep without fear of being hunted down," you disclose, waiting for Dmitri to hand over Katyusha. The boy was too thin to be carrying around the toddler. "I live in the forest."
"We don't know you, lady," Henrik protests warily, but grips the basket of apples you'd given even tighter. "What if you trick us? Or hurt us?"
"... My name is Wanda. Wanda Maximoff." You hum, smiling genuinely at them. "Now you know me. And from now on, I promise to protect you. You can eat the apples while we walk."
"..."
"It's not poisoned, don't worry." You took a bite out of one, then tossed it to Dmitri. "See?"
ᱬᗢᱬ
Not long after, you had, in fact, confirmed with your very eyes that the three orphans you'd taken in were Grisha. Undeniably so. Dmitri, the eight-year-old redhead, was an Inferni—true to his appearance and loud personality. Henrik, the introverted seven-year-old with jet black curls and icy blue eyes, was a Tidemaker—as he mentioned before.
You wondered what age their abilities began to manifest.
Lastly, two-year-old Katyusha was indeed a... well, baby Heartrender. You learned that the hard way when you tried to leave her alone for a minute to get her some warm milk in the kitchen. The air was knocked out of your lungs for a few brief seconds as she wailed from separation anxiety, gripping your arm like a lifeline.
It nearly shocked you that at such an age, she could do such feats just by touching you.
A year into sheltering and caring for these children as if they were your own, you came to the decision that it would be best if they were not with you—AKA former multiversal threat and retired but still dangerous witch living as a hermit in the woods of Tsibeya.
Which was near Chernast.
And also the Fjerdan border.
That meant a significantly high possibility of drüskelle sighting or finding the kids, even if you did last use your magic to make sure your little cabin would be safe and sound and completely undetectable to any intruders.
The children deserved a better future than staying with someone like you—a Darkhold-reading creature of evil who nearly stole a teenage girl's multiverse-traveling powers and also possessed her alternate self's body to replace her as a mom to her kids.
Die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Were you even ever a hero in the first place?
Plus, you had no idea how Grisha powers really worked.
And as much as you wanted to just fly the kids off to their best chance at a good future in Ravka... or maybe use a teleportation spell, you'd strictly sworn off your Chaos Magic for a good while now. You also didn't want to have to manipulate the memories of the three kids—especially little Katyusha—into making them believe in a fake journey or forgetting you entirely.
So, a good old-fashioned trip to the Little Palace it was.
ᱬᗢᱬ
The trip went well. Sort of. After a few days of painstakingly traveling on foot, you'd finally arrived in Os Alta in one piece.
And so did Dmitri, Henrik, and Katyusha. But there was a slight issue.
"I still can't believe you knocked out that drüskelle by yourself, Aunt Wanda!" Dmitri continues to gush excitedly—as he had for days now ever since the encounter with a lone drüskelle who tried to attack all of you. And yes, the boys had taken to referring to you as Aunt Wanda.
Which was better, somehow. You don't think you'd be able to handle being referred to as... well... that word after what happened with Billy and Tommy.
The problem was little Katyusha who practically imprinted on you as her mother. Her first words—quite late at the age of two—were mama. Directed to you. No one knew that you cried that night in your room.
"You did not even see me do anything, Dmitri. Didn't I tell you to close your eyes?" you sighed, adjusting the sleeping Katyusha in your arms.
"I swear I closed them! But one moment, he was coming towards us then the next, thud! When I open my eyes, he's on the ground in front of you? How'd you do it, Aunty?!" he excitedly squeals.
"Just a very well-timed punch," you reply carefully. A well-timed punch that may or may not have been enhanced with your psionic energy. It still irked you that you had to use your... abilities again. Even if it was not your Chaos Magic.
Still, you would never hesitate to protect this trio. Not after the year you'd grown to love them.
This time, it was soft-spoken Henrik who asked, "What about those two Grisha slavers who tried taking us away in the middle of the night?"
Okay. Perhaps the trip didn't go that smoothly. And that did not pair well with young children who were at the age of being extremely curious about everything in the world.
"Bribed them with some money," you lied. More like using your telepathic powers to manipulate their minds into leaving your traveling group alone.
"... You didn't need to give them your gold and silver for us, Aunt Wanda," Henrik murmurs guiltily. Your steps stopped. Frowning as you crouch down to the boys' level, you ensured Katyusha's head was still supported while you spoke.
"Hey. Boys, listen to me." You wait until they make eye contact. "When I first took you in, I promised that I would protect you. And I would do everything in my power to do that, okay?"
"Aunty, I'm not sure I want to go to the Little Palace," Henrik shares regretfully. Behind him, Dmitri goes quiet, too, having second thoughts as well.
Your brows furrowed as you smile sadly. "But you must. You will be with your kin. The Grisha there can teach you to grow and hone your powers. I cannot as I am only otkazat'sya. Your future lies in the Little Palace." You gaze fondly at the sleeping child in your arms. "Your sister's future lies there, too."
Henrik and Dmitri share a look as you urge them to continue walking. Just a couple more minutes and you would arrive at the gates of the Little Palace. When you were near, that's when you stop.
"Remember what we talked about during the trip? What you have to do when you get to the gates?" You remind them.
The boys nod. I slowly unwrap the cloth on my torso which was carrying tiny, two-year-old Katyusha. Henrik takes her. She momentarily fusses in her sleep, making all of you freeze, but her breathing steadies.
"Tell the oprichniki at the gates that we are Grisha seeking refuge in the Little Palace. Orphans from a small town in Tsibeya," Dmitri repeats the script you guys practiced while traveling.
"And say that we went along with a traveling hunting group until we got to Os Alta, before we journeyed to the Little Palace alone," Henrik adds.
You smile at them, embracing them tightly. "Good. Good. Now off you go. Before it gets dark."
"Will you visit us?" Dmitri asks eagerly. You hum in thought.
"Perhaps. I'll try, you two. But it could be years until I see you all again. You might be all grown up the next time we see each other," you answer him honestly. You weren't sure if the Little Palace allowed visitors to the Grisha kids like it was a daycare.
They nod, disappointed, but slowly go. You stand up from where you were crouched, a familiar feeling of these children slipping through your fingers, too. The same way your twin sons did, once.
Then, Henrik paused, turning around. "Aunty?" he calls.
"Yes, Henrik?" You tilt your head curiously.
"Thank you for being our mom!" the usually quiet boy shouts, warming your heart. It has only been a year since you took them off the streets and adopted them, but you were already attached.
Too attached.
Which never ended well for you or the other person, based on experience.
You watch them as they run to the path leading to the gates of the Little Palace. Then, you lurk for a few more minutes to ensure that they really do manage to enter the Little Palace.
When the oprichniki allow them in, a Grisha appearing and escorting Henrik, Dmitri, and little Katyusha, you breathe a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when—
"What do you mean he quit to become a gardener at the Grand Palace?!" a voice yells from a nearby corner.
"The Queen adored his flower arrangements and offered a larger pay!" another countered defensively. "Hell, I'd take up the offer, too!"
You pause, head turning to listen in more on the conversation.
"He's one of the only gardeners at the Little Palace who could do his job right, dammit!"
Looks like an interesting job opening.
It was a bad idea. A terrible idea, even. You should just go back to your cabin in the woods, living the remainder of your life in solitude. The children would be fine in the Little Palace, amongst their other fellow Grisha.
That was what the rational side of you said. But you always did have a tendency to be swept away by your emotions.
Survival rates also weren't that pleasant when Grisha children would be obligated to serve in the Second Army.
Listening to the arguing men, perhaps this is where your green thumb could step in.
You really should have listened to your instincts.
Just three months later, you start to feel a set of curious eyes watching you as you crouched and plucked stubborn, overgrown weeds from the dirt.
Your insides were on overdrive, sending off alarm bells. You worked in the secluded portions of the Little Palace garden, the ones harder to maintain daily, so no one usually came where you were stationed. Pausing, you slowly turn around to see obsidian eyes—so, so dark you couldn't distinguish the pupil from the iris, akin to a bottomless pit of starless night.
And you freeze.
The Black General of Ravka was right behind you.
Snapping out of your stupor, you hastily stand and bow.
"Moi soverenyi," you address him politely, avoiding his eyes. Of all people—of all Grisha to notice you—it was the infamous Shadow Summoner himself.
General Kirigan of the Second Army.
You've only heard stories about him since you arrived in this world. Ruthless. Powerful. A Shadow Summoner. The strongest Grisha currently alive. Descendant of the Black Heretic. And you never even thought you'd be speaking to him face-to-face ever.
Why would you? You weren't even from this world.
"Huh. I was not made aware we had a new gardener," he muses out loud, examining you from head-to-toe, dressed in light garbs similar to the other servants, only modified for greater mobility.
You seemed awfully familiar to him. He just couldn't place his finger on it.
Meanwhile, you tried your best to seem like any other unassuming otkazat'sya servant. It was tempting to just read his thoughts given how he was scrutinizing you but no, you resisted.
"What's your name, girl?" General Kirigan asks. And you inwardly cuss—so much for a low profile—yet your face was perfectly neutral.
"Wanda, sir."
"Surname?" He raises one fine brow.
"... Maximoff, sir."
"Wanda Maximoff." He combines the two names. The dark-haired man stares longer. It took all your willpower not to squirm and be suspicious. Then, he nods and continues on his way.
The moment he was out of sight, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You were the all-powerful Scarlet Witch. Or, rather, formerly the Scarlet Witch.
So why did this man unnerve you the way he did just now?
next chapter
Hearts, reblogs, comments, interactions, and constructive criticism are very much appreciated! If you wanna be tagged in the upcoming chapters, comment here or on the series masterlist post.
Thanks! ♡
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