𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌

ᴏɴᴇ: ʜʏᴅʀᴀ

WANDA MAXIMOFF HAD NEVER WANTED TO CHANGE THE WORLD. In truth, the only thing she longed for deep down was a safe place to call home. Somewhere that her family could finally be safe, could all live together without the fear of war or poverty.

But she also knew deep down that that was virtually impossible. So instead, she'd decided to settle for revenge.

For Wanda, it was hard to pinpoint the exact moment in her life her tragedy had begun. Perhaps it was when her parents had started turning off the news whenever she came near, or when the playground at her school had become lined with soldiers, or maybe when their family had started to ration their food. No matter what age she was, Wanda could always remember there being a dark lingering shadow haunting her every move. It was only when that shadow engulfed her with grief, Wanda started to believe that the tragedy was written on her very bones.

Sokovia had been at war for years. Wanda had been too young to understand at the time, but her entire life had seemed to be overshadowed by the consequences war had had on her country.

Everyone struggled for food, her parents barely making enough to keep her and her brother's stomachs full. When they walked to school, Wanda and Pietro had to make sure their names and address were written into the collars of their coats, just in case.

Wanda always thought war was a funny thing. It was always there and yet, not at all. It was all everyone ever talked about, all the news ever showed and yet, she had yet to see a single real fight take place. Like the strum of a beat that never quite dropped.

Until it did.

Wanda and Pietro had been ten when their parents had died. Ten, when their entire lives had been ripped to shreds and the remnants burned away to ash. At ten years old Wanda Maximoff had first felt grief, and even stronger, she had first felt hatred.

In the rubble of their home, the Maximoff twins had huddled under the twin bed that still lay intact. There, through the blur of her tears, Wanda had seen the true horrors of what the war could bring.

A thick layer of dust coated the air, burning at her throat and her lungs. Half of their home was gone; the wall torn open, the floor reduced to a hole. The place in which her parents had sat just moments ago, cuddled up watching tv, was reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash and rubble three floors below.

Then, her ears still ringing from the first, the second shell had hit. Wanda had slammed her eyes shut, hand grasping for her brother's and squeezing tightly as the entire room rumbled. When she finally opened them once more, it was like death was staring her right back in the face.

Ahead of the twins, barely three feet from their faces, sat a black metal shell. A red light beeped rhythmically from the side of the device, almost taunting the pair who stared back with wide eyes. They held still under the bed, frozen by the fear and anticipation of what a sudden movement could cause.

It was then Wanda caught sight of the thing that would change the course of her entire life. The thing that would haunt her memories, forever pressing in her mind until she finally sought out revenge. On the side of the shell was written one word.

   Stark.

It had been two days before the twins had managed to escape from the wreckage of their home. Working together, they'd had to slowly move the rubble that blocked their exit. They worked very carefully, terrified that every shift in the bricks would set the sitting shell off. But in the end, they had emerged free, the faulty bomb still sitting untouched in the remnants of their old life. That red light perpetually blinking, taunting their past and in time, forever tainting their future.