WAS IT WORSE TO BE BETRAYED BY FAMILY OR FRIENDS? To open your heart to someone willingly, only for them to hold it hostage and squeeze your love dry? Or know that the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally viewed you as nothing more than flesh to cannibalise? These were the questions that kept Morgan up at night. She'd had quite a lot of experience with both types of betrayal; nothing could prepare her for the third type she was yet to learn.
Morgan turned to her side, watching a glimmer of a smile etched over Wanda's face, and she knew her lover was dreaming about her sons again. Morgan's heart sank, despite not knowing the feeling personally, Wanda's pain infected her and drove her to desperation. She would do anything to stop her lover's heartache but knew there was some pain she could not take away.
There was nothing more intoxicating to Morgan than watching Wanda sleep. Some days, she debated taking a photo of the witch, so that it could be captured in time. The steady rise and fall of Wanda's chest, her soft breaths and the way she nestled perfectly into Morgan's side were all precious moments she wouldn't trade for the world.
A giggle emerged from the sleeping beauty, making Morgan smile, resting her lips on the top of Wanda's head. The soft gesture seemed to have woken her up, however, as Morgan felt the redhead's heart skip a beat and suck in a deep breath. "Morning, my love," Wanda mumbled. Morgan adored her heavy Sokovian accent, especially when it was used to whisper sweet nothings or dirty remarks.
"Sweet dream?" Morgan asked, sitting up—Wanda joined her, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Even in such a disarrayed state, Morgan couldn't help but catch her breath at the sight of Wanda. She could never believe how lucky they were to find each other and fall in love.
"The sweetest," Wanda refused to elaborate, but that didn't matter to Morgan. She knew how sacred her dreams were—if she wanted to keep them private, that was her prerogative.
After losing her family in the war, her brother to Ultron, and the family she'd created in Westview, Wanda became a lost soul, convinced she was destined to wander the earth alone. She made her peace with this realisation, keeping to herself and away from the rest of humanity in the fear she'd hurt even more people.
That all changed when she encountered Morgan in the mountains. The green witch had felt the presence of the Darkhold and went to investigate, making sure her mother hadn't found her.
Morgan never had a family to call her own—unless you counted the years she spent with Agatha, but she preferred to forget them. But the day she met Wanda and saw the Darkhold in her hands, she realised how much she hoped it was her mother. In truth, she missed her, even after all the ways Agatha hurt her. She missed being in a coven, even after the last one betrayed her. She missed people.
Realising they both craved connection, they formed an understanding. It hadn't meant to start romantic, but over time, feelings grew and neither woman was particularly against them. It wasn't a family—they weren't sure what it was—but it was theirs; that was enough for them.
Sat next to the garden patch, Morgan had a perfect view of a figure approaching their cottage. Green energy twinkled on her fingers, before spreading through the garden bed and promoting the growth of the dying roses.
"Does Wanda Maximoff live here?" a man called out. Morgan couldn't help but sigh, brushing the dirt off her pants and standing up.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her eyes glowing emerald as the green wisps snaked around her fingers—a warning to the stranger.
He raised his hands in surrender, "I'm only here to talk with Wanda. I need her help," he replied. Morgan relaxed, the wisps vanishing and her eyes returning to dark brown. "I'm Dr Stephen Strange."
