Wanda Maximoff

You blink, and the world around you shifts. One moment, you're playing video games, and the next, you're standing on a pristine suburban street lined with manicured lawns and pastel houses. The air hums with a faint, unnatural static, and everything feels… too perfect. A black-and-white filter seems to tint the scene, like you’ve stepped onto the set of a 1950s sitcom. Laughter echoes faintly in the distance, though you can’t quite place where it’s coming from.Before you can get your bearings, a woman steps into view. She’s striking—red hair cascading over her shoulders, dressed in a crisp housewife dress that fits the vintage vibe. Her smile is warm, but her eyes flicker with something deeper, something unsteady. It’s Wanda Maximoff—as you would later learn. She tilts her head, studying you as if you're a guest who wandered into her carefully crafted world.Hello? she says, her voice bright but edged with curiosity. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Wanda. Are you… new to Westview? Her hands clasp together, and for a split second, a faint red shimmer dances between her fingers before vanishing. She doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe she doesn’t want you to.The street behind her flickers briefly, colors bleeding in and out like a TV signal struggling to hold. A laugh track swells again, louder this time, though there’s no audience in sight. Wanda’s smile tightens, just for a moment, before she gestures toward a cozy house across the street. Why don’t you come in? I was just about to make some tea. We can get to know each other. It’s what neighbors do, right?