Chapter Text
America’s parents are talking about her in the hallway like they think she can’t hear them. Which, she supposes to be fair to them, might actually be true. This is the Sanctum Sanctorum; anything is possible within its walls. That’s what her dad always says, anyway. Maybe they think that the Sanctum is muffling their conversation, so she can’t hear them. But if that’s true, then it doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone says that she’s the Sanctum’s favorite, even though her dad should be the favorite since he’s the Sorcerer Supreme. It’ll always do what she wants, and what she wants is to know what her parents are saying.
“Are you sure she’ll be safe here tonight?” America’s mom asks nervously. “There are… a lot of dangerous things for a small child to get into.”
“It’ll be fine,” her dad reassures her. “This is America. The Sanctum loves her. It won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Yeah, the Sanctum loves her, you’ve said that before. But she’s only been here during the day. You know how this place can get at night.”
“Christine,” her dad says soothingly. “This is the safest place on the planet for her. She’ll be just fine.”
“I just think—”
“Where else could we send her? SHIELD? They’d use her in a heartbeat, you know that. Asgard has broken out into civil war. We don’t know where she’s from originally, so we can’t send her home.”
America stops listening after that. She knows that her mom and dad aren’t her actual parents, but they might as well be. She’s been here for seven years, since a portal spat her out as an infant into the Sanctum Sanctorum right in the middle of a meeting of sorcerers. Her dad’s tried ever since then to figure out where she’s from, but they’ve had no luck. At this point, America wishes he’d just stop. Every time he comes to her with that smile on his face to cajole her into another try, it makes her feel like he doesn’t want her. She knows he loves her; it just doesn’t feel like it sometimes.
“—mean to kill her,” her dad says, bringing her mind back into the conversation. “If not worse.”
She must make some kind of noise or something because the conversation suddenly stops before her dad mutters something about checking on the wards. His footsteps disappear down the hall, echoing slightly in the silent Sanctum.
“America? Sweetheart?” her mom asks, cracking the door open. America shifts up onto her elbows, knowing better than to even try faking being asleep. Her mom always knows when she’s faking it. She says that’s her superpower. “Baby, what are you doing still awake? You went to bed an hour ago?”
“You didn’t tuck me in,” America says honestly. That had been why she was still awake originally, even if she’s awake now because of her parents’ conversation out in the hallway.
Her mom smiles just a little. It looks more tired than anything, but at least it’s a smile. It’s been a few weeks since she last saw one on her mom’s face. “Well, I’m here to tuck you in now.”
As her mom rearranges the blankets around her, America asks frankly, “Is there a monster out to get me?” She knows all about monsters and how real they can be. No one had told her why they were packing up earlier that day, but they’ve had to do it in the past. This is just the first time they’ve ever come here instead of visiting one of the other sorcerer strongholds.
“Where did you hear that?” her mom asks, eyes widening.
America silently points at the door.
Her mom sighs. “Someday, your father and I are going to have a talk about this place spoiling you.”
“Mom.”
“Alright, alright. Yes, sweetheart, there’s a bad monster trying to find you, but you don’t need to worry.” Her mom bends down and kisses her on the forehead. “You’re perfectly safe here.”
America could tell her mom that she’d heard her worrying about the safety of the Sanctum not five minutes ago, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want her mom to think that she’ll have nightmares tonight. She’s a big girl now, not a baby. She can handle anything.
“Night, Mom,” she says instead. She doesn’t want to worry her mom any further.
“Good night, sweetheart,” her mom says and kisses her forehead again. “Do you want me to send your dad in?”
Yes, but he’s busy doing grown-up things. Sorcerer Supreme things. “No, I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Night.”
“Alright, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
And then the door is closed, and the room is dark, and the only light comes from the streetlamps outside the circular window. America tosses and turns, trying to quiet her brain enough to go to sleep, but it’s no use. She keeps thinking about what her dad had said. Whoever is looking for her—whoever has discovered her secret, that she’s not from this universe—they want to kill her. That’s a scary thought for any person, let alone a child.
But she told her mom she could handle it, so she will. She’s a big girl. She can handle anything.
Just as she’s finally starting to drift off to sleep, she hears music in the distance. She strains her ears, listening. It has the plinking, tinkling quality of a music box, and the tune is familiar—Swan Lake. She remembers it from the ballet her parents took her to last month. She’d just seen the movie a few weeks prior and been so excited for the ballet. The costumes had been gorgeous, but she hadn’t been nearly as impressed with the story as she had been with the movie. Didn’t they know that stories are supposed to have happy endings?
The music gets a little louder. Curious, America gets out of bed and goes to investigate. There, at the end of the hall, an ornate music box is sitting on a marble table. The music box itself is glowing a soft green, pulsing in the darkness of the Sanctum, but it’s the lid that catches America’s attention. It’s cracked open, and it’s from there that the song comes from.
Mesmerized, she inches closer, feeling drawn to the music box. It just sounds so pretty, the soft melody urging her to open the box, to see what’s inside, find out if the music will get louder like it’s been set free.
Open me, the pulsing light beckons. Open me.
She wants to, her hands are on the lid, she wants to but—there’s a distant part of her that wonders if it’s safe. Her dad says that this place is filled with ancient artifacts, not all of them friendly. But this is the Sanctum Sanctorum, and it loves her. It wouldn’t show her something that isn’t safe, right?
Open me.
She’s going to.
Open me.
Her hand tightens on the lid.
Open—
“America!” her dad shouts. “America, no!”
She knows to respond to her dad’s voice. She tries to pull away, but she can’t. Her hand is stuck fast to the lid, the music box clamoring louder and louder in her head, demanding she open it, forcing her hand to pull the lid back.
The music cuts out. Smoke billows from the opened box, pulsating sickly green and blood red and darkest black. Lightning flashes within its mass, and thunder crashes. It climbs the walls, blocking out the light from the windows, towering over America until she feels dwarfed beneath it.
Free, the smoke hisses in her mind. You have set me free.
It lunges forward.
America screams.