crimson

{ i }

Her hands were by her sides in the dream.

    Tied down, that is.

    Impossible to lift, impossible to use to fight back against the spirits that circled her like vultures. They always seemed to find her, no matter where she ran. Black wisps of energy, in the form of ravens, flew above her head in a counter-clockwise motion. She squeezed her eyes shut as the first one dove down towards her.

    Upon impact, the spirit-bird hardly wavered, and she registered pain. The spirit passed through her, as usual, dragging with it a burning sensation that ripped through her mind. She saw stars, and told herself not to pass out. She fought to try and get her hands free. If she could just loosen the ropes enough, she could slip out, and use her magic to her advantage.

    In real life, she would have had no problem using her ability to remove the ropes, but dreams were always different. They were meant to be more terrifying, to intimidate her. They also made her think critically, in case she was ever without her hexes.

    Think.

    She winced as another one of the spirit-birds dove at her. Then she forced herself to relax. That would work to loosen the bonds, she knew from experience. And, slowly but surely, she could feel the ropes start to slip down her bare arms.

    The third bird came at her, hitting her leg. It ripped part of her black dress before passing through her upper right thigh, causing her to fall. She cried out as she went down.

    Relax.

    It was a thought process all too familiar to her, considering she had this dream at least twice a week. She was determined to be free by the time the fifth bird struck her.

    The fourth circled her, taking an agonizingly long time to decide which part of her to torment. She stared at the black spirit, as if her eyes could prevent it from making its decision. Unfortunately, it came at her anyway.

    Pain.

    Typical for her. She was used to it by now, working overtime to relax her muscles, to give into the depression around her. The yellowed grass underneath her was prickly. The skies were grey, clouds hanging low, threatening to rain.

    And, just like that, the ropes came free. She launched herself to her feet, balanced. She raised her hands and twisted her wrist in the direction of the last spirit-bird. Curls of red energy reached the bird before it got halfway to her, seizing it and crushing it, causing it to fall to the ground with no life left. Her eyes glowed a faint red, before they returned to their darker color.

    She collapsed to her knees.

    As soon as she collapsed, she woke up.

    Her bedroom was dark, but she wasn't afraid of it. She was drenched in sweat, and her breathing was heavy.

    Oh, god.

    This happened once every three or four days, but it seemed like the dreams were getting more frequent. She needed to stop them. As soon as she possibly could, preferably. She was an Avenger. She did not wish to be tormented by nightmares day and night, wondering if the decisions she had made were right. She hated dwelling on the past more than she hated the smell of cigarette smoke.

    Wanda Maximoff laid back down, but did not go back to sleep, staring at the ceiling.

    The uninteresting grey color kept her awake for hours.