Authors Note and Warnings: To start off, this will not be a happy story. It centers around the corruption of power, the tainted desire to obtain said power, and the struggle to remain sane and humane when the greatest sin of all is the one thing you want most.
It is an AU, and begins while our delightfully insane Wanda is still in the Asylum. This will be JONDA, but the romantic part of this story is going to be dark, just like everything else. Of course, there's a lot you'll realize about Wanda that is a tad on the weird side of things cannon with X-Men Evolution.
I also appologize for the choppy way it's written. It's meant to be chaotic, since it's in Wanda's POV, and scannings of her vague memories.
Imaginary
Prologue
Darkness is the first thing I can recall. Not your average darkness either, for there were things, monsters, hidden in the depths of this darkness, and each and every one of them called for my blood. They stabbed at me with their hot pokers laced with Thorazine or halidol. They would do this to subdue me, bring me back to the light. Back to my red and gray existence, though they did so cruelly, leaving my body numb and lethargic, and my brain could only process the simplest of concepts.
The men in the gray, metallic uniforms, and the nurses in their all white, sterile attire. They held utensils that looked painful, though I couldn't recall the name of any of them. The long steel handle with the shiny, metal hook at the end of it, shaped like a sickle, was particularly daunting, however. I was sure that these painful instruments had either already been used on me, or they were about to. Sad thing is, if the dirt-speckled white walls began to fade around me, and the all encompassing red closed in, I knew I would lose consciousness again. The medical bench beneath me, with it's surgical iron surface would cease to be felt, and my sight would grow redder still. The noise around me, which was but a vague buzz to begin with, would leave me as well. All of my senses would turn to nothing but crimson.
The medical cocktails they fed me every morning would start to kick in, and the red in me, the Witch in me would start to struggle. Fight against the deep, frightening darkness, and with it, my world would be dyed scarlet.
"But not today, young Wanda." the nurse at my side said. She had apparently been carrying on with her one-sided dialog, as my eyes glanced about frantically, accusingly. With her words, I felt the red tendrils of the Witch slip towards the back of my consciousness, and for that I was grateful. When the Witch took control, my body became something of a human apparatus of destruction and chaos. Power would ebb off of me in waves, but oh the desire for that power. To have the Witch's power would be a magnificent thing, but it would corrupt me. I know it would. My mind, or what's left of it as the doctors and psychotherapists have deemed, would simply die off, allowing the red to consume me once and for all.
Regardless, the desire to be that strong, to be able to rise up and escape from this place was an insatiable thought to entertain still.