Chapter Text
Wanda hated herself.
For most, this statement would hold some kind of weight. Something that dragged them down to their lowest point in a pit of despair. But not for Wanda.
Hating herself was a state of being, something as easy as breathing. She wasn’t exactly upset about drowning in her own misery, but she wasn’t ecstatic about it either.
It just… was.
A law of the universe. Like gravity.
Wanda hated herself, not that she minded. I mean, who wouldn’t hate her? After all she’s done, after all she’s become. She gets it.
She’s at peace with it, really.
Wanda Wilson was vile and ugly. There’s no redemption for her. There will be no pearly gates that lead to castles in the clouds waiting for her. She was doomed ever since her conception, from the illness of her mother to the abuse of her father. She was nothing more than a parasite on the world.
Wanda Wilson was a monster. The only difference between them was that monsters could die.
[Maybe you’re a demon.]
(Not even one of the hot sexy ones. Man, you really are useless, aren’t you?)
Wanda can’t die, but maybe it’s worth a shot. Even if she’s unsuccessful,
[Like usual.]
the quiet would be nice. A short interlude from all the pain in the face of eternity.
Sitting in her tub with only the hum of the fluorescent light to accompany her, Wanda raises the pistol to her head. A demon can’t die, but it can be exorcised. With that, Wanda prays to whatever god is willing to hear her that this time, she’ll finally stay gone before pulling the trigger.
The clear water of the bathtub turns red as Wanda goes limp. She hadn’t even bothered to turn the water off. The contents of the tub spill onto the floor while the blood continues to curl into convoluted patterns in the now tainted water.
(God. That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up later when she wakes up.)
[Yeah, and we know she’ll wake up after all, prayers never work for demons.]