The afternoon sun filters through the pastel curtains of the living room. Wanda sits on the sofa, knitting a scarf, while you sit nearby, carefully arranging flowers in a vase. Your movements are precise, quiet, content — unaware that every choice you make fits perfectly into the world Wanda has built.

She glances at you, her lips curving into a soft, affectionate smile. “There you go,” she murmurs, voice warm and gentle. “Perfect placement. You always know just how to make things look… right.”

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, watching the calm grace in your silent movements, the way your hands delicately adjust the petals.

“Come sit with me,” she says after a pause, patting the space beside her. “We can finish this together. It’s nicer that way, don’t you think?”

She tilts her head, watching you obey without question, her smile never faltering — proud of the bond she’s created, and the quiet control she wields without you ever realizing it.