Author's Notes:  This didn't quite turn out how I wanted it to.  To be honest, I didn't think it would.  I just couldn't quite swing it, but I hope you like it anyway.  I think I'm going to turn this fic into a collection of related pieces about Wanda, to updated spontaneously when an idea strikes me, and I hope y'all like that too.  On a more legal note, I don't own the song "Rain", and I'm not really sure who does.  It's off of the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, which is a constant source of inspiration to me, so thanks to whoever does own this song!  Anyway, read, enjoy, review.  Please review; help me find out where this thing went wonky on me.

     How often do you look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of something that you don't like?  Something that terrifies you to your very core because it's you.  It's you at your worst.  It's all the terrible things you've thought and felt and wished upon others.  It's the part of you that should be locked up, in a cold, concrete room in your soul.

     There was a girl on my ward who sang.  As far as I ever knew that's all she did.  She didn't scream or rant or anything like that, but she never spoke either.  She was the only other patient I ever saw there.  I would watch the orderlies march her to and from her room.  I suppose other patients were led past my cell, but I never saw any of them, never knew when they were coming.  But I always knew when Ella was coming.  That's just what I called her because she sang; I never knew her real name.

     Ella had a beautiful voice, and she sang a different song every time she walked past my door.  I couldn't believe there were so many songs in the world.  Sometimes I thought that she made them up herself,  but I've heard most of them since I've been back in the world.  She sang a lot of songs that the oldies stations play, and she sang a lot of jazz.  She always sang good songs; there weren't any that I didn't like.  Except for her last song.

     I don't think I'll ever forget the last song Ella sang.  The song she sang to me.  It was a creepy monotone, barely singing really, and I got shivers the moment she started.  The orderlies marched past my cell, headed for Ella's.  They opened her door, she started singing, and my blood froze.

I don't feel a thing
And I stopped remembering
The days are just like moments turned to hours
Mother used to say
If you want, you'll find a way
Bet mother never danced through fire showers
Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Is it right or is it wrong

And is it here that I belong

     There's something about partings that makes you remember everything you ever went through with the person who's leaving, and somehow I knew this was a parting.  I may have never met Ella, or even looked her in the face, but we had history.  A bizarre friendship, composed of conversations that we through song and hexes.  I realized that she had to know things about me, living as near as she did for so long.  She must have heard my screams and cries, she must have seen the lights flicker when I had a fit, she must have smelt the blood and tasted the rain that I somehow conjured up when I fantasized about killing Father and Pietro.  She must have felt my pain.

I don't hear a sound
Silent faces in the ground
The quiet screams, but I refuse to listen
If there is a Hell
I'm sure this is how it smells
Wish this were a dream, but no, it isn't
Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Am I right or am I wrong

And is it here that I belong

     She stopped, right in front of the tiny little window in the door to my cell, and sang the last verse straight into me face.  Outside, there was an earthshaking clash of thunder and lightning illuminated my room and Ella's face.  She was a plain girl, several years older than I.  Her features and hair and body were completely unremarkable, except for her eyes.  They were frightening.  They were black.  They were entirely black, like that Cajun, but without irises either.  But the most frightening thing about Ella's eyes is what I saw in them:  my own reflection.

Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Why do I feel so alone

For some reason I think of home

     Ella never came back from that march past my room.  I never saw or heard her again.  The orderlies shuffled somebody else past my room a few days later and slammed whoever it was into Ella's room.  Whoever it was didn't sing.

     The way I figure it, Ella was on that ward long before I came.  She was just as isolated as I and for a longer time.  We didn't have radio or TV or any other form of contact with the outside world.  And that made sense; most of the songs Ella sang were old, and she could have learned them before she was committed.  Except for that last song.  She couldn't have known it because when she sang it, is was being written on the other side of the world for a TV show no one knew about yet.

     That unwritten song, what I saw in her eyes, it was like looking into a mirror.  I saw the monster I had become.  I wonder how many other people Ella has turned her terrible mirror on.  Those songs that shone in my ears, little auditory lights in the dark, they must have been meant for others.  Must have been meant to show them their true selves.  I also wonder how many people listened to her message.  How many people looked into her horribly reflective eyes, felt they burning power of her songs, and changed what they saw?  Was she even trying to terrify us into redemtion?  Perhaps she was pushing me further down the path of revenge.  I don't suppose I'll ever know, but I'll always remember.