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thera-daydreams · 7 months ago

Text

SCARLET & SHADOW

ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ

[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]

series masterlist & synopsis • thera's masterlist

chapter four.

▪︎ haunted ▪︎

You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.

warnings: again, the big bad darkling himself is a warning, he gets kinda pushy and intimidating, aleksander hates liars but is a big one, faint spoilers about the darkling's book story, our baby wanda, her powers, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, and a whole lot of heartbreak, wanda!reader cuts her palm to prove something, a whole lotta tension between you and the general, no beta we die like wanda

word count: 6.0k

(author's note: bro even my heart broke writing this long-ass chapter, haha. shadow daddy and magic mommy super angsty slowburn!? i just wanna finish this short series and be free from the confines of my crazy fanfic ideas, guys. let me go!)

The smell of paper.

Aleksander walked through the rows of bookshelves, his eyes skimming the spines of the books, searching for the one he wanted. He continued down the row, almost reaching the end, when he stops and his eyes settle on the sight of you, reading on a small couch tucked into a dark corner of the room.

What impeccable timing he had, he thinks as his thoughts shift from the book he was looking for to the woman who’s been plaguing his thoughts as of late. Just in time to get answers to his questions.

After being in Ryevost for a week, his presence was required in Kribirsk, overseeing the status of the troops there. But no night passed when he wasn’t thinking about you, in particular. Aleksander’s eyes zoom in on the book you were reading.

History of Ravka. How unexpected. His gardener was such an avid reader.

A strange feeling stirred within him the longer he stared at you. He’s seen you before, he just doesn’t know where. He glances around the room, checking if anyone else is around to see the two of you. When he’s certain that no one is there to witness, he slowly moves closer to you, coming to stand a few feet away from the couch.

You noticed eyes studying from near the shelves even without looking. But ever since you became employed in the Little Palace, you had grown accustomed to a certain Shadow Summoner’s presence. Slowly, you turn your head to the right side of the sofas to see him.

“Moi soverenyi.” You bow your head as you stand.

“Hello, Wanda," he greets, his voice low and almost teasing. Funnily enough, he finds his gardener not in the garden, but the library this time.

"I find myself surprised. I thought you prefer being in the garden." His tone was light and nearly sarcastic. Was he in a good mood today?

“It’s a Friday, sir. My day off." You smiled a little.

"So it is,” Kirigan muttered, his gaze going back to studying your features, his eyes roaming over your face once again. Now, to the important topic. "Wanda—you and the children… Henrik, Dmitri, and Katyusha…”

You perked up at their names. “Yes, sir?”

“Where are you from again?”

You nearly, very nearly answered Sokovia. Thankfully, you did not. But something in you grew agitated as the Darkling stepped closer, awaiting your response.

“We came from a small town near Tsibeya. Korsov. Barely even in the maps,” you reply smoothly, fingers grazing the rough pages of the history tome you were devouring earlier. "Not exactly the nicest place to live in."

“Ah… Korsov. Indeed, quite a small town near Tsibeya, hm?” General Kirigan hummed, his eyes flitting to your hand. “But Tsibeya is so dangerously close to the Fjerdan border, don’t you agree?”

At his words, you start to have a bad feeling. He appeared to be implying something. “... Yes, it is, moi soverenyi,” you agree.

“And you did not encounter one single drüskelle in the many days you trekked from here to the Little Palace?” The Black General finally drops what he’s been intending to ask for a month now, his endlessly dark gaze piercing through your soul.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. If you thought he was onto you before, this was the confirmation.

Before you could respond, he continued, slowly circling you. Like how predators did to their prey. “Drüskelle are very unjust in their ways of imprisoning and killing Grisha, did you know that?” He added, a faint smirk on his face.

The smug bastard knew he caught you in his trap.

“Fortunately enough, sir, we encountered no drüskelle on our journey.” Your voice was cool and calculated as you watched him stop circling you. Kirigan raised a brow.

“Aside from drüskelle, Tsibeya is also notorious for its bandits, thieves, traffickers in its vast forest. There are many threats—excluding the temperatures and animals,” he pointed out, sounding amused. “Are you sure? When almost always, my soldiers would encounter one or more of these during their assignments there?”

Shit.

You retained your composure as you answered, “None, General. I’m forever grateful to the Saints above that we were blessed with smooth travels that time.”

“The Saints?” The Darkling mused, flipping a page on the book you were reading. The next page revealed an illustration of the Unsea. There was a glimmer in his eye as he looked at it. “That’s quite strange, Miss Maximoff.”

“Sir…?”

“Because I seem to vividly recall young Dmitri gushing over how you singlehandedly took down a drüskelle in your journey. Henrik also spoke of how you bribed two Grisha slavers to be on their way.” He turned back to you expectantly. "But you'd made them close their eyes."

No use hiding now.

A spike of cold ran down your spine. You weren’t sure if the children sold you out or not—it was unlikely since the General had Heartrenders for torture and interrogation and also, they were innocent kids! Children who either feared or idolized the Darkling. Probably both. You could not blame two boys and a little girl if they talked.

Either way, the man in front of you knew about what happened in your journey to the Little Palace. More or less.

You were just getting more and more interesting, weren’t you?

Aleksander sees your demeanor shift into something icier. Guarded. Quite different from the quiet gardener who diligently tended to her plants or the affectionate adopted mother who gives out sweets to her children. Different from the woman who smiled at him while wittily matching his banter.

It was the look of someone who most definitely was dangerous.

“Are you going to keep your general waiting?" Kirigan drawled.

And to think this had been the man you shared your grief to just over a month ago.

“What matters is that the children are here in your palace. Safe and sound and with their people, sir,” you countered, standing your ground fearlessly.

The Black General had absolutely no idea who he was messing with right now.

“I do not tolerate lies, Miss Maximoff,” he spoke slowly—ominously, his features hardening. You watch as the flames in the lamps nearby flicker and vanish completely as shadows engulf the space around you.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as react at the sight.

“I doubt drüskelle or anybody else with ill intentions would just let 3 little children and a young woman escape without any trouble,” Kirigan challenged, stepping closer until he was merely an arm’s length away from you. “So, how did a helpless otkazat’sya gardener with no combat experience like you do it, hm?”

“...”

He scoffs. “Are you truly going to make me drag it out of you, Wanda?”

Menacingly, you tilt your head at him as you dauntlessly meet his gaze above you.

The Black General suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, something that rarely occurred in his immortal life.

Who were you, really?

You open your mouth to speak when—

CREAK!

The heavy wooden library doors loudly open, his most trusted right-hand man walking in. The shadows around you quickly vanish and the lamps flicker back on. A little irritated, he turns around.

“... What is it, Ivan?” He kept his voice reserved, hiding his displeasure at the interruption. He had been so close. So damn close.

“General, the Durasts have completed the new sandskiff prototype at Kribirsk. It is ready to be launched as soon as possible,” Ivan reports, his gaze momentarily shifting to you before returning to Kirigan. “Will you be accompanying us there once more, sir?

You await his response, but you can’t help but let the tiniest hint of a smile appear on your lips. Saved by the bell. His eyes flickered down, brow slightly twitching. He sends you a glare which clearly meant that your conversation was not at all over.

Your seemingly innocent smile grows wider as you bowed. “Moi soverenyi.”

Who was so smug now?

Holding back a snarl, he swivels on his feet, fists clenched. “Come,” he sharply ordered his Heartrender, quickly leaving the library.

You pick up the book you had previously been reading, examining the illustration of the Fold on the page. When you turned to the next page, there was a drawing of a heavily cloaked figure surrounded by shadows.

The Black Heretic.

You had only seen one other likeness of the man—at an almost abandoned wishing fountain not too far from the Little Palace. An engraving depicting the reign of King Anastas, the creation of the Fold, and the prophesied Sun Summoner to solve their problem.

As you reach out—fingers tracing the drawing of the Black Heretic curiously—the memory of your silhouette in the Book of the Damned suddenly coursed through your mind, Agatha’s voice echoed in your ears.

“You’re supposed to be a myth! A being capable of spontaneous creation!”

“This is Chaos Magic, Wanda. And that makes you… the Scarlet Witch.”

“Harbinger of Chaos!”

The sculpture of you in the now-destroyed Darkhold Castle flashed before your eyes.

“The Scarlet Witch is not born; she is forged. She has no coven, no need for incantation.”

“Your power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. It is your destiny to destroy the world.”

Quickly retracting your hand from the Black Heretic’s drawing, a deep frown marred your face. What was that just now? You return the history book to the shelf, disturbed.

What was crucial was that General Kirigan did not successfully interrogate you. Yet. Never, you pray. Hopefully, he’ll be off for a long time in Kribirsk for a very important Second Army job or whatever Ravkan military business he needed to do.

You could hide. Yeah, that would be the best option.

ᱬᗢᱬ

For once, it seems like the heavens did heed your wishes. Because apparently, they had found the infamous Sun Summoner during their last trip to Kribirsk. Not without casualties, though. There was reportedly a drüskelle attack on their way back home aside from the volcra that had attacked the passengers of the sandskiff.

From the gardens of the Little Palace, you briefly catch sight of General Kirigan on his black stallion, a woman riding on the saddle in front of him. As the Shadow Summoner helps his newfound Sun Summoner down the horse, ushering her into a secluded entrance in the palace, he stopped in his tracks, looking behind him with narrowed eyes.

Aleksander swore he felt someone watching them.

But there was nobody except the oprichniki guarding the way in.

Without another thought, he followed the Sun Summoner inside. Fortunately, the new presence of the Sun Summoner—Alina Starkov—takes up the majority of his time for the coming days, especially after she was successfully presented to the Lantsov monarchs in the Grand Palace.

She will change the world, General Kirigan reportedly announced to everyone present. And the Fold can be destroyed with enough training. Somehow, it made you pity the poor girl thrown into this prophecy.

A great myth turned out to be a girl who was still finding her way in the world. How familiar.

Speaking of the Grand Palace, the head servant handed you a letter of some sort. A job offer. It seemed like Queen Tatiana was quite enamored with the new, blooming flower beds in the Little Palace. The ones which you’d mainly worked hard on earlier this year, aside from the fruits, vegetables, and herbs you helped grow.

As you walk through the paths of the garden, reading and debating over the contents of the royal letter, someone nearly hurls past you, making you drop the letter.

“... Miss Alina Starkov,” you acknowledged with a bow of my head as you gratefully accept the letter. “It should be me who’s apologizing. I was reading while walking.” You smiled warmly at the younger woman.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” A girl’s voice cries out as she picks up the paper from the ground. The only thing you could see was her blue, Etherealki kefta until she hands it to you.

Oh.

“Please, you… really don’t need to bow… ma’am…” she trails off anxiously, averting her gaze. She seemed to also be cradling her sore arm. Ah. You’ve never met the old woman, but you heard from Henrik and Dmitri that Baghra was notoriously strict and kind of scary whenever Grisha trained under her.

For a moment, you wondered why it was not General Kirigan who was training Alina.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, Miss Starkov, I’ll stop.”

“T-Thank you.” She stared at the bed of moonflowers nearby. “It’s beautiful here. I haven’t been to this part of the palace before. All the flowers… the vegetables... the colors and the scents… it seems so unreal."

You chuckled. “It’s all very much real, thanks.”

“Oh! You're the palace gardener,” she realized. “The flowers are gorgeous! You must have magical hands, ma'am.”

Funny. The General said the exact same thing just months ago.

“Just one of the few gardeners here, Miss Starkov. I’m assigned to the very tedious sections to maintain, but I'm glad you’re pleased. Perhaps one day, you can help me give the plants more sunlight with your powers during the winter,” you lightly suggested. At your words, she grows hesitant—her voice full of doubts.

“That is, if I can,” she mumbled, making you give her a sympathetic look. A young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She reminded you of yourself when you were young—long, long ago.

ᱬᗢᱬ

Aleksander is laser-focused on Alina for a long while, working to gain her trust and persuade her to join his cause—to use her powers for Ravka. All the while, he barely has time to think about the other matters, including his unfinished conversation with you. Plus, every time he managed to get a glimpse of you, you just seemed to get away and escape.

His frustration slowly builds. He can’t help but wonder what was going through your mind—you truly were hiding something from him. And despite his busy schedule with the Sun Summoner, the General can’t shake the feeling that the conversation you both left unfinished is important. He quietly resolves to talk to you to clear things up as it was nagging the hell out of him.

It was an unwelcome distraction from his goals with Alina. Alina was supposed to be the priority now.

Unfortunately for him, for some reason, you were incredibly good at evading his presence. The situation becomes more and more of a challenge. He almost orders Ivan to retrieve you himself and throw you into his office (or the underground cells) for interrogation. Almost. But he was not that desperate. Yet.

ᱬᗢᱬ

“Is she here?” Aleksander asks two of the oprichniki, who were standing guard over Alina at the entrance of the private palace gardens. They nod as he hops off his horse.

“Good. Keep an eye on her wherever she goes,” he ordered before walking deeper into the gardens. Then, he pauses, a delighted look on his ageless features.

Look what we have here… he thinks as he finds you and Alina interacting.

Aleksander stands back for a moment, hiding within the shadows, watching the two of you talk and smiling together. He overhears part of your discussion, and a part of him is taken aback by the genuine care and reassurance you offer to the young Sun Summoner.

It seems like your kindness did not only extend to the three Grisha children you’d somehow brought into his palace.

“I don’t believe that it's power that's your problem, Miss Starkov,” he hears you welcomingly tell Alina as she walks beside you. “It must be knowledge. Knowledge can be gained, in time.”

“You really think so, Wanda?”

One dark brow of his elevates. Hmm, first name basis already with one another? How quaint.

You smiled at her. “I'm certain you will be a wonderful Sun Summoner. And, although I’m no Grisha like you, you are in good hands. With Baghra and… the General, too…” you trailed off.

Aleksander’s eyes widen slightly at your words to Alina. He's a bit surprised by your confidence in his teachings, but he’s even more pleased to hear it.

"Indeed, the knowledge and guidance I can provide will help you, Miss Starkov."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The corners of his lips curved into a slight smile as he approached. Alina gasps in surprise, while you instantly freeze as your head almost snaps to the sound of the voice behind you. Kirigan’s gaze flicks back to Alina for a moment as she clears her throat, before looking back at you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your expression.

Alina looks back and forth between you and General Kirigan, clearing her throat as she senses some tension between you and the man who’d appeared out of nowhere.

Returning to your senses, you bow as he walks closer to you two. “General Kirigan.” Slowly, you back away from them. “My apologies, sir. You and Miss Starkov must have important matters to discuss. Excuse me—

"No, you stay.”

The Black General raises a gloved hand, immediately stopping you from leaving. When he speaks, there is a firm command to his tone. You halt.

You briefly wondered what chaos would ensue if you simply just used your magic now to vanish into thin air.

"You may go, Alina.” He said to the Sun Summoner before turning to you. “I’d like to have a word with you about the… flowers, Miss Maximoff.” The younger girl nods slowly, eyes flitting between both of you briefly, before leaving—the oprichniki following her.

Aleksander waits until Alina leaves, before returning his full attention to you. The look in his eyes is intense and serious. He’s been trying to catch you for quite a while now, and he’s not letting you leave that easily.

“Moi soverenyi.” Your voice was… just civil. Polite. Not as cordial and friendly as when he last met you. Or whenever you would have nice chats in the garden.

He takes another step towards you, and in the fading light of the garden, he seems imposing with his height and black kefta. "You’ve been avoiding me, little gardener,” he grunts lowly. Your brow twitched slightly at his words.

“You wished to speak about the blooming flower beds, sir?” you asked in a faux clueless tone, fully aware that it was not what this conversation was about.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Wanda,” he warns. “Such an elusive mouse you are… hiding around in my palace.”

“I was not avoiding you, sir,” you placidly justified yourself, not at all scared to look him straight in the eye. “You appeared to be quite preoccupied with the Sun Summoner's arrival.”

"—It's hard to fool me, Miss Maximoff.” His voice was silky, mocking you gently. "But weeks and weeks of evasion from me was quite impressive, I’ll have to admit. Makes me wonder why you’re so adept at it."

“...”

The Shadow Summoner can’t help but feel a sort of satisfaction at your silence, as if he’s won an unspoken game. He watches you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice smooth.

"Tell me," he mutters. "Did you really think I’d forget about that unfinished conversation we had in the library?"

You blink almost innocently. “Everything’s just been so hectic with Miss Starkov’s arrival, sir,” you say, hands clasped behind your back. “I can’t quite recall. My sincerest apologies.”

The man scoffed at your feigned ignorance.

“You may forget, but I never forget, little mouse.” Those abysmal eyes locked on yours. He reaches out and takes a stray lock of your hair, running it between his fingers slowly. You stiffened—the leather of his horse riding gloves almost touching your face.

“I normally dislike repeating myself, but I’ll spare you some kindness, so let me rephrase.” Kirigan retracts his hand, leaning over you. "You took down a drüskelle and escaped Grisha traffickers. How?"

“Again, does it matter how? The children are safe in the Little Palace.” Your same response in the library weeks ago. The Black General is not satisfied with your vague answer and his hand moves from to your chin, tilting it up slightly so you’re looking directly at him.

"I want to know." There was a not so subtle hint of force in his calm tone. Despite being so close to you that he could count your eyelashes, his gaze is intense and unyielding, trying to dig beneath your surface.

“... Fine. With my hands,” you hissed out. That wasn’t a lie… exactly. You used your hands to add some energy as you punched the drüskelle, which knocked the holy soldier unconscious before the children could see anything.

The General’s expression remains serious as he listens to your brief response.

"For the drüskelle… hmm... and the Grisha slavers? What did you do?” he murmured, pushing you for a more detailed reply.

“I bribed them,” you say. Just like what the kids believed; you gave them gold and silver. If mind manipulation counted as bribing.

The Black General was in disbelief. He seems annoyed by your refusal to share any details, and his fingers close around your chin more, holding it in place so you can’t look away from his intense gaze.

“Liar.” He was nearly eye-to-eye with you as he leaned down. "Do you truly expect me to believe that you escaped the attacks of drüskelle and Grisha dealers with just your hands and a bribe?" he asks, fully skeptical of your claim and demanding a better answer from you.

“And if that is what happened?”

“Then you must be Grisha. Or an assassin, maybe, if you used your… hands to defend yourself and survived those trained, armed fighters,” he sneers. “You keep lying to me, little mouse. It makes me have second thoughts. You say you’re not Grisha. When were you tested?”

You stare at him passively, unanswering as your jaw clenched.

“Well?” he asked, waiting expectantly.

Before he could react, you grabbed your soil knife from the satchel you carried around to work in the garden.

And consequently slice your palm open.

“!?”

Kirigan’s eyes widened, completely dumbfounded at what you’d just done. You stare at your bleeding palm, rivulets of crimson dripping down your wrist and forearm, droplets pitter-pattering the pavers.

Then, you raise your palm to face him.

“Not. Grisha.” That’s all you whisper, hauntingly unfazed. It was true. No sunlight. No shadow. No elements or whatever manifestations of the Small Science at all.

“...”

Much to your shock, he closes the space between you and retrieves a black handkerchief from within the inner pockets of his kefta, taking your bloodied hand and applying pressure on the lacerated flesh with a surprising gentleness.

“I will fetch a Healer—”

“No,” you stubbornly refused, making his brows furrow.

“... No?” he echoed.

You withdraw your hand from his leather-clad one, pressing the cloth yourself. Your tone was frigid, just as it had become ever since he began questioning you. “It’s just a cut. I’m sure your Healers have more important soldiers to attend to,” you snapped, stepping farther away from the General.

Silence engulfs both of you as the afternoon light morphed into the evening.

“... I have a theory,” he says suddenly. His brows are still furrowed slightly, deep in contemplation as he gazes at your injured hand. "You’re not a Grisha. You’ve proven this yourself. But... what if you have powers, nonetheless? Or abilities? Skills?"

He studies you carefully, looking for any reaction to his theory. But you carefully school your face into neutrality.

“Otkazat'sya can't have powers.”

"You’re not telling me the whole truth again," he muttered, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I can sense when you're lying, little mouse."

Kirigan quirked a brow, not buying your reaction. "True," he conceded. "But perhaps... not all otkazat'sya are as powerless as they seem."

He knows you too well, by now. All those visits in the garden, those talks with you...

The Darkling steps closer, eyes never leaving yours. "After all, you have managed to slip past my notice for weeks. Even when I actively sought you out."

"..."

It makes you want to punch his pretty face.

He knows he’s caught you in another lie—and he’s enjoying watching you try to deny it despite your failed attempts.

"Admit it. You’re not an ordinary otkazat’sya, are you?”

“But I am," you insisted.

“No ordinary otkazat’sya would slice their hand that deep without so much as wincing,” he opposed. “If you were any other person, I’d throw you to my Heartenders for questioning. Maybe you are an assassin, if not Grisha.”

“And why haven’t you, General?”

“Because, my little gardener, you could always tell me the truth,” he says, his tone slightly mocking again. It’s clear that he can sense your internal struggle and is simply waiting for you to crack. “This bothersome cat and mouse game of yours will soon be over.”

“And even if there is something special with me, will you use me the same as you're using Miss Starkov, General?” You look up at him in challenge. This time, it was you who strode closer to him.

The smirk on his face is replaced by a glower.

He grunts, insulted. "What makes you think I’m using Miss Starkov?"

“She is young. Barely past nineteen. Innocent. Easily manipulated. And you are a much more powerful older man. The complete opposite, moi soverenyi.”

The title escapes your lips with suspicion.

"Love?" the Darkling scoffed, unamused and slightly insulted your insinuation that he’s taking advantage of a young and inexperienced Grisha girl. "I have no time for such frivolous emotions. I serve Ravka and my Grisha, my duty alone."

Then, you huffed in disbelief. “Unless... those looks and interactions you give her are true love, feelings that have blossomed from you two being so alike. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. Sun and shadow.” You tilt your head at him, pressing the handkerchief tighter against your palm. The cut still bled and soaked the fabric.

Black as it was, it almost seemed scarlet now.

“I’m not blind, General Kirigan.”

But were your words false? Or was he hurt because it was true?

"What you call manipulation, I call training. Helping to shape and control a powerful Grisha. To make her a Saint, a savior of Ravka. And Alina...” he murmured, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder—a warning. “Alina is special. She is all that matters now. She is the future. She is the one.”

"..."

The General quirks a brow at your noncommittal response. "No arguments? No retorts?"

“You will hurt her if you do not stop,” you advised him.

He lets out a low, mocking scoff. "Since when do you care about her heart? You just met her."

“General, she is good. Pure. Bright and determined, but so young, unsure of her place in the world—”

“I do not wish to speak of Alina right now.” He returns to the previous topic, the shadows growing ever more prominent as the sun sets. “The matter at hand is you. But you haven’t been cooperating with me and don’t seem to plan on doing so.”

He removes his hand from your shoulder, dusting off imaginary dirt from his kefta.

"Hence, I shall ask the children myself. Surely, even if their eyes were covered, one of them took a peek. I will have Ivan deal with them—”

Seething from anger, you almost growl. “You will do no such thing.”

What if you just used your magic again to put this bastard in his place? That would teach him. Still, you were not that reckless. No.

Kirigan doesn’t like you speaking to him in such a hostile manner, but at the same time… he loves it. He can’t help but feel a slight thrill as he looks at the protective fire in your eyes.

He’s got you where he wants now.

"Watch your tongue, Miss Maximoff. You’re speaking to your general.”

“I'm not one of your soldiers,” you sharply rebutt.

The Shadow Summoner pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing at your tone. You’re right—you’re not one of his soldiers. You don’t wear a kefta, you’re not trained and raised in the Second Army, like so many of the Grisha in the Little Palace. He should be annoyed or irritated by your defiant tone, but he can’t help but feel intrigued, his interest in you ever growing.

"No, you’re certainly not. But you’re employed in the Little Palace. My palace," he replied, his tone holding a hint of wry amusement. "I will summon the children to my office. Or would you prefer the dungeons? With a bit of prying and prodding, I'm sure one of them will squeal—"

“Don't you dare.”

And for the briefest moment, the Darkling swore he saw your irises flash a glowing crimson as you seize his hand with your bloodied one.

The handkerchief falls to the ground. Aleksander feels your grasp on his hand, your fingers curling firmly around his wrist as you speak—so tight you might break bones. He can practically feel the heat radiating from you, your rage almost palpable. He’s never seen you so… volatile. So furious.

It’s a side of you he’s never seen before.

He wants to see more of it.

Yet, the red was gone as soon as it appeared, making him doubt his own eyes. You let go of his wrist and distance yourself immediately, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes to calm yourself. You turned around, pacing on the garden path.

The Black General studies you silently, watching you closely as you try to rein in your anger. What did he just see?

“I... overstepped. Forgive me, moi soverenyi,” you whispered. Your eyes were normal again, as if nothing ever happened.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before finally speaking.

"Indeed, you did." His tone returned to its usual calm and cool state. The man doesn’t seem particularly upset about your outburst, in fact, he almost looks… impressed?

"Whatever punishment you wish to—" Kirigan doesn't care about that right now, interrupting you.

"What was that, Wanda?”

“... What was what?” You were genuinely confused.

“Your eyes. Just now.” He steps closer, the darkness growing around both of you. “For a second, I swear—”

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination.

Upon his words, you realized you’d slipped.

"—They were red, Wanda. I think they were." He frowns, retracting his first sentence. "No. They were. My eyes do not fail me."

"..."

“This—This was a mistake,” you suddenly whisper, eyes shutting tight. The shadows around you vanish as Kirigan’s brows creased in confusion at your words. “No, no—I should have just left them here... I should’ve left long ago…”

It was as of someone submerged you in ice, a pit hollowing your stomach.

He’d seen a glimpse of it. Your powers. All because you couldn’t keep your emotions in check.

“Wanda—?”

“I never should have come here.” Your voice breaks, panicked as you endlessly whisper to yourself. “I never should have. I'm not even supposed to be here. It’s all my fault… this is all my fault.”

You’ve put the children at more danger because you remained here in the Little Palace. Why did you have to meddle? You were a danger to anyone and everyone around you. No matter what you did. No matter how good you tried to be. You should have stayed alone in your little cabin in Tsibeya, waiting to die.

Gritting your teeth, you pick up the bloodied handkerchief on the ground and hand it to Kirigan, who was growinf increasingly concerned by your spiraling behavior.

“Your hand—”

“I don’t need it anymore.” Your voice was hoarse with emotion.

“What—”

Indeed, when he looked at your bloodied hand… there was no cut at all. No blood on your palm or any that he’s seen dripping to your wrist and arm. Even the droplets on the ground were gone. His eyes widen as he looks at the handkerchief. Fresh and clean. It had been soaked with blood just seconds ago. So was the hand you gripped in anger.

His head snaps towards you.

Teary-eyed, lips wobbling, hands trembling as you gazed at him, face illuminated by the lamps by the garden path.

“I only wanted to make sure they were safe,” you choked out, shaking your head. “Visit them every few weeks or so while… while…”

Aleksander realizes he may have screwed up as he watches your wrecked state before him.

“—While I just nurture something instead of ruining it all the time.” You tearily glance at the majestic flower beds you’d created. The food you grew from the soil. The fruit of your hard work. Real. No witchcraft at all.

Was it worth it, though?

You clench your trembling hands, glaring at the Shadow Summoner. “You truly wish to know what happened with the drüskelle and the slavers? Fine! I'l tell you all about it!”

You were hysteric, laughing and crying. Mad and resigned. The General was silent. Frozen.

“Yes! Yes, I do have certain powers, General Kirigan. A helpless otkazat'sya gardener like me posseses powers beyond your wildest imagination. Powers that not only topple empires, but worlds. Powers I never wanted and powers I never wished to use again,” you screeched, no longer caring about hiding secrets. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He swallowed, seeing the crazed look in your eyes.

Wiping your tears, you give him a hopeless smile, eyes glowing red. This time, it wasn’t a mere flash. Your eyes were glowing.

“You want the truth? I’m a witch! A real, living, breathing evil witch." You raised your arms up in surrender. "I use magic. No, no. Not the Small Sciences! No! That so-called little thing you and your Grisha label as merzost? An abomination? I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and still have seconds. There you go.” You lowered your arms, fists clenching. “And if I were any madder than I was now, I would have killed you right then and there when you threatened to interrogate the children.”

Vividly, just as the sun set and let the darkness surround you.

“But do you know why I didn't? I can’t. I don't want to. Because that would add one more person’s blood to the countless souls I’ve killed over so many millennia… the thousands I've tortured with my pain." You thread your fingers through your hair.

Witch. Magic. Countless killed. Millennia.

Your jaw clenched at your own words. The red vanished from your eyes as you tiredly mutter to yourself, scoffing, "Perhaps I truly am meant to be alone. It is my curse. I was wrong to believe that I could stay with the children and watch over them here. Damn it all."

Aleksander doesn’t know how to react to your revelation. He only knows that he hates what you just said. However, as he removes his leather gloves—reaching out for you as he slowly steps forward.

You frowned, initially backing away. “What... What are you doing?! Don't—”

His bare hand cups your cheek. His thumbs—calloused, yet so warm—grazed your cheeks to wipe your tears. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation as you let your guard down.

It felt nice.

However, when your eyes close and his touch warms your tear-stricken skin, you see it. Hear it.

All of it.

A snowy land. A frozen lake.

"I'm a human amplifier."

"I'm sorry! I need your bones!"

"If she wears my bones then you won't be able to push her or her sister around anymore!"

"You must fight. Fight!"

Water. So much water. Drowning.

The Cut. Blood. Fire.

“Aleksander!”

A woman restrained and stabbed. A man falling to his knees before vengefully killing royal soldiers with shadows. Journals. Morozova’s journals. Merzost. The creation of the Fold.

"What did you do?"

“I made something.”

The volcra. The screams.

“Aleksander is the Black Heretic.”

The night of the Winter Fete. The Grand Palace. Crows. Alina Starkov. Malyen Oretsev. Two children running in a field. The Stag. The Darkling’s true plans.

“Fine. Make me your villain.”

The expansion of the Fold.

“You cannot claim what was not given to you.”

Nichevo'ya. Scars. The fall of Ravka from the inside out.

So much death. So much screaming.

There came another Lantsov prince. A ship. The Sea Whip. The Firebird. The death of Mal.

The obliteration of the Fold. The sun vanishing. Sand… so much sand… ash. Fire.

All of it, in just a split second.

“Without me, know that they will come for you.”

“Let them come.”

“Alina… you make sure… there is nothing left of me… please…”

A thornwood tree.

Screaming. More and more screaming.

The making at the heart of the world.

"My name is Aleksander Morozova, but I have had a hundred names and I have committed a thousand crimes. I am not sorry. I do not repent! All I did, I did for Ravka!"

Make it stop.

Make it stop!

“No!” you screamed, unconsciously pushing the Black General away—sobbing harder and falling to your knees, clutching your throbbing head and covering your ringing ears, overwhelmed by the barrage of voices and images flashing through your mind. "It hurts... it hurts!"

Then, as you open your eyes, your heart sinks.

Although it was evening—no one else around, the palace garden around you fell dead—flowers wilted, trees black and leafless, not a single form of life present. The lights of the lamps had been snuffed out.

Black and corrupted like your fake apple orchard when you read the Darkhold.

And you hear someone wheezing from beside you.

Your eyes widened—the General's shadows had tried to protect him, but red wisps of energy coiled around his neck as he struggled to breathe, on his knees.

“No! Stop! Stop, I’m sorry!” you cry out, standing and making the wisps vanish.

You covered your mouth, feeling revolted at what you’d just done. It was Westview all over again. General Kirigan—no, Aleksander Morozova stares up at you—coughing—both of you reeling from shock.

He was speechless, as well.

“Oh, God—what have I done... I’m sorry… I’m—” you hiccuped, voice breaking as your eyes flitted between him and the dead garden. The ruthless, terrorizing Darkling himself seemed horrified at you. That spoke volumes in itself. “I’ll… I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Hands glowing with the mix of red and black mist of your Chaos Magic, you painstakingly revert the garden to how it used to be… before you accidentally killed it. Like nothing ever happened, just like how the cut on your palm mysteriously vanished.

The Black Heretic couldn't believe his own eyes. His little gardener was... something else entirely.

Not Grisha. Not a Shadow Summoner. Not a Sun Summoner. No. You were something far beyond that.

“Wanda—” Aleksander finally says, pulling himself up, approaching you cautiously.

“Don’t.” You shake your head fervently, voice barely a whisper. He stops that instant. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer. Please. I might hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m not a monster.”

Your words broke Aleksander’s heart.

He’s heard them before from his own lips.

You swallowed, staggering from the visions you saw. A premonition. Just like when you read Ultron’s consciousness so many years ago.

“I looked into your head and saw annihilation,” you remembered yourself saying to the love of your life, when he was no more than an hour old.

“Look again,” Vision replied.

Your chest heaves with the effort you need to breathe. You had to get out of here now.

But you had one wish. Just one.

“General, please... please—all I ask of you is that you make sure they’re safe,” you begged the Darkling, lips wobbling. He immediately understands.

Katyusha, Dmitri, and Henrik.

“You have kept them safe, Wanda. All this time,” Aleksander whispered, tone pleading. He had fucked up. "I understand now. How you protected them. Why you protected them yourself. You do not need to go—"

You shake your head in disagreement, sadly smiling.

"There is no place for me here, General. Not anywhere." Another salty tear trails down your cheekbone, your voice shaky. "Not with anyone. Not for me."

"There is no safe place. There is no haven." Baghra's words momentarily echo through Aleksander's head from when he was thirteen. His heart thumps faster and faster when he realizes he can't change your mind. "Not for us."

"Wanda, wait—"

In a blink of an eye, you were gone.

You exhaled shakily.

"Goodbye, General Kirigan."

The only thing left of you—on the ground—were your satchel of worn-out gardening tools and a white envelope. Frowning, he picks it up. A job offer from the Grand Palace to be one of the gardeners there. He crumples it in his hand, fist clenching the fancy sheet.

Wispy, crimson streaks… magic...

Aleksander stares at the garden, in disbelief of what just happened and how you did it. Crickets sounded out from the bushes. It wasn't an illusion, then. He had just seen you destroy and repair an entire garden within seconds. A Durast could do that, too, but not at such a ginormous scale and certainly not as quickly or finely. Down to the crown molding, it looked real.

It was real.

He touches his throat, remembering the crushing feeling of those wispy, crimson streaks in the air constricting his airway. Almost like a Heartrender, yet oh so different.

Aleksander then realizes why you’ve been so familiar to him all this time.

You were the woman who had been haunting his dreams not so long ago.

Yet, you did not seem to know it at all.

And now, he had driven you away because of his greed. He feels the bile creep up his throat.

That night, as he returns to his room in a daze, his strange dreams of the faceless woman with powers return.

Only this time, you weren't faceless anymore.

to be continued.

So he finds out but kinda regrets it! I wanna make this man grovel soon, hehehehe. I honestly also love how I was able to mix some of the show's, book's, and Wanda's iconic lines from her MCU movies here in this chapter. 💖

Anyways, reblogs are super super appreciated as well as comments and hearts! I love getting feedback from any of my readers! 🥺

taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird

#thera.writes #the darkling #darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #shadow and bone #multiverse of madness #wandavision #grishaverse.works

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