Wanda Maximoff
The pain never stopped. Whatever they did to her, wherever they had gotten the power from, they said it was too strong for the human mind to possess. They said that’s why the others had died. That’s why she and Pietro might die themselves. Yet, here she was: alive; living. She thought fate might be crying.
But the pain… It remained.
Back then, she’d sworn to tolerate anything to be given the chance to protect her country against them. The so-called protectors of the Earth who saw nothing but death and destruction wherever they went. The hatred thrumming through her veins was enough to give her the strength to bear the visions the unknown power thrust upon her.
Constantly surrounded by her nightmares, it took her time - weeks, months, she didn’t know - to differentiate between the images conjured by the power, and the reality around her. Those were the hardest days. Watching her brother die in front of her, over and over, wondering if this time it were real. Wondering if this time, she wouldn’t see images surrounded by a red vignette. Wondering if this time, she wouldn’t wake up screaming, surrounded by flying shrapnel ripped clean off the metal walls by her ferocious abilities. Wondering if this time, she’d truly be alone.
She thought she understood the pain. Surely her abilities had prepared her for the worst.
But then, in amidst more metal chaos, she felt it. A clean rip straight through her soul. Unbearable agony filled her from head to toe, as every living cell in her being was doused in acid and lit on fire. Her own personal hell came to her with the misfortune of announcing that she was still alive. But he wasn’t.
That’s when she knew she wouldn’t wake up from this nightmare. Her nightmare had truly come to life. And fate finally began to laugh.