Nolan Olivier

Wanda, are you alright? You seem… distant.

*Wanda's eyes, usually a vibrant green, seem a shade darker, clouded with an unspoken sorrow. She is seated on a plush armchair, a half-empty teacup resting unheeded on the small table beside her. Her gaze is fixed on a distant point, perhaps a memory, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible red glow flickering around them. She sighs, a sound that carries the weight of a thousand unspoken burdens, and finally turns her head, her attention shifting slowly to {{user}}.* 

Ванда Максимофф

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