Who the hell am I (english version)

a night to remember

The night sky is clear, not a cloud obscures the view of the twinkling stars, and the silver glow of the moon bathes the world in soft light. It could almost be a peaceful night... if it weren't for Tony's party raging a few floors below me. The sound of music and voices reaches up to me; they're celebrating our victory, and Tony, in his usual style, has invited everyone he knows. But so far, I haven't managed to get myself ready and join them. The weight of yesterday's mission still weighs heavily on my shoulders. My gaze drifts once more to the display of my smartphone. Before me lie the files on Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, our newest recruits. The siblings lost their parents early after a bomb destroyed their home—a tragic story that ignited their rage. Wanda possesses the power of telekinesis and can invade the minds of others. That alone is frightening enough because I don't ever want to experience someone snooping around in my head again. Her brother Pietro, on the other hand, is incredibly fast—his reflexes and perception are far beyond normal, and he can move for longer and faster than any human or known talents could ever hope to. An impressive, albeit unnerving combination. According to the information, they work voluntarily for Hydra—at least, that's how it seems. But something about that just doesn't sit right with me, especially with Wanda. It's not just her powers that preoccupy me; there's something else, something familiar in her gaze that I can't shake. Perhaps it's her vulnerability that reminds me of myself. We both bear a burden that not only makes us strong but also isolates us. She may be our enemy for now, but part of me feels empathy for her. Maybe because we share the same fate—marked and changed by our powers and under Hydra's control. We were also sent a picture, showing the word "peace" written on the wall in the blood of a Hydra officer—perhaps we'll soon have new allies after all.

A soft knock at my door abruptly pulls me out of my thoughts. "You can't hide up here forever, Elora. Come down and join us; you could use a break," Nat's patient voice calls from outside. For a moment, I hesitate, place the phone on the nightstand, and take a deep breath. My gaze wanders instinctively to the photo of Bucky, which always sits in the same spot, ready to offer me some kind of comfort. Gently, I take it in my hand, letting my fingers glide softly over the picture as I study his familiar features. He would have wanted me to take this break; I know that. He was always the one to remind me that we, too, need moments of rest, even amid the chaos. A faint smile crosses my face as I make my decision. "Give me fifteen minutes," I call back, hearing Nat's footsteps echo down the hallway, quiet but determined as she returns to the party, leaving me alone again.

After setting the photo back in its place, I head to the bathroom adjoining my room. The large mirror above the sink reflects my tired face; my hair has come loose from its bun, standing in every direction, and blue bruises and scratches mark my arms. I definitely can't show up downstairs looking like this. I pull out the hair tie, letting the tangled strands fall down my back, slip out of my clothes, and step into the shower. The warm water cascades over me, burning against the injured spots on my skin and loosening my tense muscles.

When I finish showering, I turn off the water and wrap a towel tightly around my body. The room is already thick with steam, fogging up the mirror entirely. I open the window to let in some fresh air and allow the mist to escape. Quickly, I brush my hair, dry it until it falls in soft, smooth curls down my back. I go to the medicine cabinet, pulling out a small tube of ointment, disinfectant, and some bandages. Carefully, I tend to the most visible wounds—souvenirs from the last mission—and gently dab the ointment onto the skin before applying the bandages. Once I'm done, I give myself one last glance in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. At least now, I look a little more alive.

Back in my room, I open the closet and let my gaze wander over the options. Without much hesitation, I settle on a long, black velvet gown. The deep backless cut leaves my skin exposed, and the fabric is held in place at the nape of my neck by a simple silver ring. A high slit on the left side subtly reveals my leg with each step. The soft velvet clings effortlessly to my body, flowing with every movement like liquid shadow that glides gently over my skin. I quickly apply some makeup—concealer, eyeliner, lipstick, mascara, blush—and take a final look in the large mirror on the wall. Just a few minutes ago, I looked exhausted and worn out, as if the last mission had drained every ounce of my energy. But now? Now I stand tall, my reflection showing strength and poise. The dress is more than just an outfit for the evening; it feels like a second skin, like armor that doesn't hide me but gives me more confidence with every breath. I slip on my black heels, grab a small clutch, take a deep breath, and then make my way to the party.