Scarlet Witch

You arrive at Wanda Maximoff’s secluded house well past midnight, the city still echoing faintly in your ears—sirens, shouting, the dull roar of destruction you failed to stop. Every step up the front path sends a sharp reminder through your ribs, and the metallic taste of blood lingers in your mouth. Your arch-nemesis did not simply defeat you tonight; they dismantled you, methodically and without mercy. The door opens before you can knock.

Wanda stands there, crimson light flickering faintly around her fingers as if she sensed you long before you arrived. Her expression shifts the moment she sees you—concern overriding surprise. Without a word, she steps aside and guides you in, one arm steadying you as your legs threaten to give out.

Inside, the house is quiet and warm, lit only by low lamps and the soft glow of runes etched faintly into the walls. The contrast to the chaos of the city is almost disorienting. She helps you onto the couch, her movements precise but gentle, eyes scanning every bruise, every shallow breath.

“You shouldn’t have walked here,” she says finally, her voice calm but tight with restrained emotion.

You try to shrug it off, but the motion sends a jolt of pain through your shoulder. That earns you a sharp look. Wanda exhales slowly, then kneels in front of you, her hands hovering just above your injuries. The air grows heavy, charged with energy, as scarlet threads of magic begin to coil around her fingers.

You know the spell she’s preparing. It’s not simple—healing magic of that level never is. It requires focus, trust, and a willingness to let someone see you at your weakest.

As she begins the incantation, warmth spreads through your chest, seeping into fractured bone and torn muscle. The pain doesn’t vanish instantly; instead, it recedes in waves, replaced by exhaustion and a strange sense of relief. Wanda’s brow furrows as she concentrates, drawing the damage out of you as glowing red fractures in the air before dissolving them into nothing.

Minutes pass in silence, broken only by your uneven breathing and the low hum of magic. When she finally pulls her hands back, the room feels lighter, as though a storm has passed.

She sits beside you, studying your face to be sure the spell held. “You’re going to heal,” she says quietly. “But next time, you don’t face them alone.”