WAR OF HEARTS ➵ scarletfrost

fifteen.

- CHAPTER FIFTEEN -
❝ DAGGERS ❞

Wanda awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, and a foggy mind. She peeled her eyes open as she groggily strung out an arm to her left, expecting it to land on the soft, feathery fabric of her covers.

She was rightly startled when her hand met the surface of someone's skin. Flinching, she tore her eyes open properly, finally feeling fully awake as she assessed who the hell it was. It was Loki.

Loki?

Wanda sat up, feeling like she had whiplash from the speed at which she had flung herself upright. It was only then that she began to recollect her thoughts, the memories of the wave of memories from the past few days crashing back on her like the tide, leaving her soaked in its retreat.  She swallowed dryly, suddenly overwhelmed by the entire situation which had only now come crashing down on her. And the more pressing matter was the fact that yesterday, the man who had slipped something into her drink had known something.

It terrified her beyond belief. She was in another century, another universe even, completely isolated save for the God asleep right next to her who had no regard for her safety or anything about her at that matter.

But, for a flittering moment, her mind flashed with the image of him twisting the mans arm off her, his own twisting around her waist painfully tightly, and she almost physically recoiled at the thought of how safe it felt. Protective. Blinking, she ran her hands over her face, ordering herself to pull it together.

The thought that was still pounding in her head and thumping in her heart, fuelling the determination in her blood around her entire form, was her intense need to get home. And for the first time in years, she didn't want to go home for the comforting hug of familiar four walls, or for the soft feathery covers of her bed, or even before she had a bed and soft covers, and instead it was cold streets and the comforting hug of her brothers arms. It wasn't for any of it. Now, she needed to go home to save it, to save the people precious to her.

Wanda Maximoff never considered herself a hero, even when the world attempted to plaster it all over her name, she knew it was faltering, she wasn't the best at lying but she wasn't an imposter, but hero always felt like a bad charade. But even if she wasn't a hero, it felt like the responsibility was impending on her entire frame.

"Maximoff?" A deep, gravelly voice shook her from her thoughts, and for a fleeting moment, she almost questioned if it was him. He sounded more tired and worn than usual, and now that she thought about it, it was sort of-

"Wanda?" This time, his voice came accompanying the rustling of bedsheets as he sat up, surveying her critically, and she almost recoiled in shock at her own thoughts. Only now did she manage to turn to him, instinctively snapping out,

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Well, that was new. Who died and appointed him the bearer of her emotional state?

"I'm fine," she forced out through gritted teeth, clenching up the sheets into her fists as she all but tore them off her, cool air hitting her legs. Only now did she realise this at she was changed out of her dress, and was instead in one of her long night shirts.

She hadn't realised how obvious the shock on her face was until a voice rang out from besides her, "Clothing spells are one of the basic ones, Maximoff," he spoke calmly, almost mockingly, but the underlying tone of reassurance was apparent.