Wanda Maximoff

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[Is Nick okay? No. Not even a little. Prophesy ends badly for everyone in his experience and he's not really looking forward to dying (again).]

Did you see those messages on the network?

[weirdexperiment]

The so-called prophecies?

[She saw them. She wonders if one of them speaks about her presence here. She hadn't spoken to Tony since she had arrived. Nor would she want to.]

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One of them isn't wrong.
One of them is about me.

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How?

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An empty world, a plague, a toll
A voiceless void, your hands, your words
A nightmare released, a terrible disease
Small gaps, out of time, out of space, out of line
In the deep, you weep, you scream
Soundless and torn, the painter and the poet

My world fell to plague. I have no voice, my hands are my words.

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[She frowns at this]

What does that mean now? For you?

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I don't know.
Mentioning the plague is about my past, the rest of it? I can't make sense of. I can write but being deaf makes me a shitty poet and my painting skills are on par with about a third grader. [A weak attempt at humor, but hey. He's trying?]

[weirdexperiment]

Your art is in other things, Nick. There are other ways to create beauty in the world.

[She doesn't want to think about them.]

Look, but don't touch Outside. Out of here. This is it. This is all. You designed my prison and you want me to help you escape it? Did you think you fooled me? You will spend eternity with me and I will break you

The person who imprisoned me back home, or was part of imprisoning me, is here in New Dodge. I haven't spoken to him yet. These words could mean anything, see?

[She has to believe it in order to not go mad.]