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Post by Wanda Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 12:57:12 GMT -5
Her expression changed, becoming one of great concern. Her brother, the person she held dearest in this life, was speaking in a way that was almost out of her understanding. "I'm not sure I understand, Pietro," she said quietly. "Why can't you calm it?"
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:10:33 GMT -5
::Therein lay the problem. If Pietro knew how to calm it, or why he could not, he would not have his concerns. But he did not and he could not and thus that inner voice told him it may be Magneto's influence. Those nightmares he experienced each time he slept...he would be driven mad. The darkness within him, that rage, it would drag him down so he could not rise, not as himself but as one in Magneto's image. From that came his gradual acceptance of his own death, and on some mostly unconscious level, a near yearning for it.:: "If only I knew."
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Post by Wanda Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:17:02 GMT -5
She nodded. On some level, she didn't quite understand his rage, and yet, on another, she felt it. Or something close. Her hand withdrew from his, and instead wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him closer to her. Her head rested on his shoulder. "Pietro, I am afraid," she admitted softly, after a period of silence.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:18:28 GMT -5
::Pietro set down the vodka bottle and drew her into his own embrace.:: "Of what?"
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Post by Wanda Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:20:16 GMT -5
"Of the shadows," she said finally. Not the literal shadows, of course. But the shadows of the coming doom, looming over them.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:22:09 GMT -5
::Pietro rested his chin against his sister's forehead. The shadows would come, whether or not they were prepared for them.:: "I won't let you be harmed."
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Post by Wanda Maximoff on Nov 7, 2007 13:33:44 GMT -5
"Mmhmm..." she said softly in acknowledgment, closing her eyes and content to rest within his embrace. Her arms slackened in her embrace, as she slowly began to fall asleep.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Nov 9, 2007 10:52:20 GMT -5
::Pietro's arms tightened around Wanda as she drifted off to sleep. He had more to say, the likes of which he could not share with her when awake. She was his other, and they shared all that they had; it had always been that way between them. Even then, there were parts of himself, his thoughts, his rage that he preferred not to communicate, not with himself and not with her. As though it might darken his sister's purity, when her inner light had struggled so much to remain bright.
He had always been the outwardly stronger one; physically he had more strength, more resistance. He was not shy, as she was; instead he was blunt, with a low tolerance for games, because of his irritability. He had always born the brunt of their burdens; he had always been her protector. He could not have cracks in his armor, not since he was a child; otherwise both of them would be in danger.
He had those cracks; they had slowly begun to resurface over these months. The month of Hell, of not sleeping, of not eating, of constant paranoia and stress, of the fights and the labor, that had caused the greatest crack of all. His inner-child was dead and buried, but he bore its memory, and the old feelings had resurfaced.
He rubbed her back while she drifted off. When she had finally fallen asleep, he kissed her forehead, before speaking, as though it were a bedtime tale. The content of his words, the pure sentiment behind them, provided stark contrast to that image.:: "I detest myself, Wanda, and if anything happens to you, I will never forgive myself."
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