Dreams of another life

VIII

Wanda hadn't left her bed in a while.

Giving up had been a lot easier than she'd expected. It required nothing. No effort, no anything. It wasn't healthy, she knew that but that was the magical thing about being alone in...wherever she was.

No one was around to care. No one gave a shit about her.

She could lie to herself and say that it wasn't depression. That she could get up if she wanted to, go for a shower, go outside. Only, she didn't want to. Not in the slightest.

Lying had never been easy for her, to others or to herself. She was struggling and she knew it.

The people that were actually dead that she wanted to see, be reunited with, weren't here. The living didn't want her, now neither did the dead. Maybe she was in limbo.

So she lay in bed, staring aimlessly out the window watching clouds roll past and birds fly by. Tears dripping onto the pillows.

She needed someone, before Westview, before everything that happened with Strange. Before that fucking book. She needed someone to hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay even though it wasn't. Someone to just be there. Even if it was just for a day.

And no one showed up.

So she didn't want anyone anymore.

She'd tried her best to reach out to Bucky, even after it was obvious she wasn't as strong, as powerful, as she used to be.

He couldn't be blamed that he wasn't able to hear her properly, hear and answer her pleas. She wasn't even sure he'd help her if he had. She wanted out this place, but it was clear that neither Bucky or anyone else was coming to save her.

If she really wanted to, she could get herself out. Possibly. But she simply didn't have the willpower or the energy. Her magic felt...dampened here. Dwindling away. 

She wanted someone to come and rescue her, and didn't she deserve that? Deserve someone, anyone, to save her for a change? After everything she'd done, sacrificed and lost, for them?

Apparently not. She'd lost everyone she'd ever cared about, ever loved. And in the end, she lost herself too.

As she was laying on her side making pictures out of the clouds, the door in the middle of the street caught her eye.

It hadn't changed or moved or done anything to do so, just it's presence alone was enough to make her sit up a little.

That door taunted her. What was on the other side she didn't know, but it was a door so it had to lead to somewhere other than here. Perhaps it was the gateway to life or death if this really was limbo.

A sudden surge of anger and energy had her on her feet and walking with determination down the stairs and out the house towards the door.

By the time she reached the door, the anger and energy had gone. She was already outside and even if she wanted to deny it, the fresh air and sunlight felt good.

It was red with gold and blue trims, the door, she noticed as she examined it. She did a slow circle of it, like a shark baiting prey. There was no secret room, that she'd somehow missed all the other times she'd looked at it.

Wanda did the instinctual thing, and knocked. To no avail, obviously. If someone had answered, she probably would've run away.

Reaching for the handle, it felt cold in her palm. Icy, as it always did when she'd tried before.

Nothing. The handle was stuck, it seemed.

Wanda kicked the door, surprised when she felt some of her anger leave her. Steve used to take his anger out on the punching bag, maybe she could take a leaf from his book.