Mandela Effect: Prologue

Well that was... Strange

(A/N: Try to guess which Avenger is going where! They're each going to a separate universe, but the universes aren't set in stone. If you guys give me a REALLY GOOD suggestion, I just might use it in place of one of ones that I have planned.)

Far above the debacle on the torch, the mandala hung in the air, indifferent to the goings-on below it. With each Avenger's disappearance, it let out a veritable tsunami of pent up energy in all directions. As the first ring of energy radiated out over the bay, Natasha's despaired shout chased it towards the distant city lights. The magic soon left the inferior sound waves in the dust as it flitted over lower Manhattan, completely invisible to the nocturnal mortals far, far below it.

Well, invisible to all but one.

The wave swept over Greenwich Village, swooping so low that it ricocheted off of a magical barrier that hadn't been there a second before. The magic buzzed angrily off into the night, leaving behind the impossible obstruction and the house that it protected.

The house itself was slightly grander affair than its neighbors, but not entirely unusual. Unlike the plain brick apartment buildings surrounding it, this one was a proud four-story Victorian brownstone with a sloped roof and numerous windows. In daylight, they would allow light to stream through every corner of the house, but now they were all dark except for a few. A large decorated skylight ornamented the roof and, despite its lack of light, it seemed to stare out at the city like an ever-vigilant eye. As the magic retreated off into the night, a disgruntled huff of wood smoke puffed out of its chimney. A pigeon landed on a windowsill on the south side of the house only to have its landing strip immediately tilt to an alarming angle, dumping the bird with a loud squawk. The stone slowly reset itself, immovable once again.

Behind one of the few lit windows, a crackling fire illuminated an interior that was far stranger than anything the outside of the house would lead one to expect. Two plush armchairs, each about five feet tall and roomy enough for a full-sized man to curl up in them, were just about the most normal things in the room. They sat in front of a fire that flickered with what seemed like every color in the visible spectrum, from ruby, amber, and citrine to emerald, sapphire, and amethyst. Near the bottom of the fire, which leapt from a bed of clear crystals, tongues of obsidian black and diamond white repeatedly flickered into existence before subsiding.

The crackling fire's light flickered and ebbed across the navy blue walls, revealing an enormous collection of both magical and mundane objects. Grotesque masks with gaping sockets, tusks, and feathers hung next to tapestries and paintings depicting sweeping landscapes, horrifying monsters, and bustling cities. The pictures moved and one could see pointilated people bustling along acrylic streets, watercolor wings flapping against gradated scales, and silk trees swayed in front of cotton mountains. Here and there, swords, staffs, and wands were in display cases or mounted on the walls. The hardwood floor underneath the armchairs was covered by a white circular rug with a sky blue pentagram woven into its surface. Arcane runes were painted in silver around the walls on the trim and baseboard, sealing the room from any and all magical attacks. On the opposite side of the room from the fire, a large rectangular window looked out into the night. To either side of it stood floor-to-ceiling book cases that were crammed with every kind of book that you could ever imagine. In fact, book shelves dominated every spare bit of wall space that hadn't been claimed by some strange artifact or piece of art. Ancient leather spell books were stacked between modern literature and texts on medicine, architecture, history, and art. One book shelf was entirely dedicated to CDs and vinyl for the stereo and record player in the corner and if one was determined enough, they might find the stash of comic books behind the false panel in the bookcase under the painting of Pompeii mid-explosion.