#but honestly nell is the kind to stare into the abyss and make the abyss look away FHDHGHDH

[feminants]

what the fuck are you wearing? ( for eleanor <3 )

she's mid-sentence (mid-ramble is, in all honesty, more accurate) when she's so rudely interrupted, and it throws her for a loop. her gaze moves from leera, down to her own self, clad near entirely in earth tone corduroys, very briefly down to her boots, which are sufficiently scuffed, and then back up at leera, brow cocked almost quizzically. "––clothes?" a stellar answer. the exact type of answer, in fact, one should give to someone with as daunting an aura as the one standing in front of her now. [ really, eleanor, excellent decision! ] "is there something about my attire that offends you, miss daymont?" it's hard to keep the amusement from leaking into her voice, so she makes no effort to, even if she doesn't find this scenario to be particularly funny.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling Over the Holidays

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: Fluff. Implied Pandemic world we live in

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Inspired by the need to write more Henry and Nell, along with Henry’s latest IG post and here we have it. 

Henry Cavill Master List

“Almost have it, Wild Boy.” Henry announced looking into the abyss of the computer they were attempting to build.  This was their second this year, a true feat. Rarely did Henry and Ivan get the time to break down and rebuild their own systems. It was a welcome hobby, keeping them busy when there wasn't much else to do these days.

They had been working away on the project since breakfast. Frustrated mumbling and grunting seemed to be the only sounds coming from the other room. Nell listened, checking in on them from time to time, waiting for them to finish. Today was the day they were going to finally trim their Christmas tree. After days of waiting, it would finally be a sight to behold. Or as much a sight to behold as they could manage. All in all Nell felt that she decorated a pretty damn fine looking tree.

It was shortly after lunch, when Nell began to get annoyed. When she'd brought in a plate of sandwiches and asked her husband and son if they would be done soon, both had told her that they needed ten more minutes. Three hours and one boasting Instagram photo later...

“Dad, I think I have this backwards.” Ivan furrowed his brow staring at the piece that he was attempting to put in.

“Let me look.” Henry moved to take a closer inspection.

Not wanting the break anything, risking a costly repair. Ivan was learning fast and enjoyed working with his hands. More than that, he really enjoyed the uninterrupted time with his dad. “Not backwards, but the next slot over.” Instructing his son how to put the piece in properly.

Neither of them seeming to notice or care that Nell had drug out their boxes of Christmas decorations. Outside, she and Henry had strung lights in a few bushes and around their garden early in the month. Wanting to get it done in case they got an unexpected cold or worse. Inside Nell had put up her favourite battery operated candles, the old fashioned looking ones that stood in the windows. Every window in the farm house had a candle display. The kitchen had lights and a few decorations, the sitting room, the office, and even the bathrooms were ready.

All they needed was to get the tree decorated. Presents under a naked tree was plain wrong.

“Henry, Ivan.” Nell tapped her foot on the floor, her arms folded across her chest. Huffing at the two of them. She should have known better than to let them tear apart that damn computer this morning.

“I think she saw.” Ivan wasn't doing a very good job at whispering, his mother could hear him on the other side of the room. Nell rolled her eyes. Of course she had saw the photo, over 3,000 people had saw that photo and it had only taken five minutes.

“What is it, darling?” Henry leaned back in his chair, glancing over his shoulder at his wife. Smiling sweetly, his usual trick when he wanted to attempt getting out of something.

“Tree.” She gestured to the tree behind her.

“What about it? Is it too dry? Ivan, didn't I ask you to water that this morning?” Shaking his head, Henry glanced at his son.

“I did, dad.” Ivan huffed, holding the light at the perfect angle to see inside the box.

“Guys, can we please decorate this tree? It's been here since Sunday.”

“We'll get to it.”

“When? It's already Friday. Henry, we have had this in here for nearly a week. A naked, boring, lackluster tree.” Lecturing, Nell rubbed her temples, “Christmas is in a week! A week! This is the latest we have ever left the tree.”

Setting down his manual, Henry pushed his chair away from the desk, standing to observe the tree. He hadn't thought it was that big of a deal, they had gone last week and picked out the tree, Henry wasn't sure that this would be the final spot for the Christmas icon. Something Nell would assume was an excuse.

He should have taken the photo from the other side, oops. Had he not mentioned the bare tree to the world, his wife likely wouldn't have been making such a deal about it. Until now, Nell had been avoiding it as much as him and Ivan.

“Do you want to do it today?” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed the back of her head. “The wild boy and I are more than happy to let you take over.”

If she wanted to decorate the tree, by herself, it would have been done hours ago.

“Nice try, but this was to be a family activity.” Nell furrowed her brow, huffing. “Why can't you stop fiddling with that damn box for twenty minutes?”

“I love you, Mrs. Cavill.” He knew exactly how to win this battle.

“Not working.”

“Worth a try,” Henry shrugged giving her a kiss on the cheek. Squeezing his arms tighter around his wife, he groaned. Caving to her whim. “I'm going to make us some cocoa, then we can get this tree decorated. Wild boy, help your mum get the decorations out, please.”

“Uh, no.” Shaking her head, Nell escaped his clutches. “I am going to make the cocoa,” gently tapping the tip of Henry's nose she grinned, “You and Ivan can untangle the lights. I have been asking you all week, get to work.”

Laying on the floor by the tree, Kal boofed and yawned. He had heard her asking multiple times over the week, but what could be do about it? Stretching, he stood cautiously to keep his wagging tail from smashing the tree. Nell really hated picking pieces of Christmas tree from his fur. Following her to the kitchen, he hurried when her steps approached the treat cupboard.

“You'd help me, wouldn't you bear?” Spotting her shadow, Nell smiled, tossing him a biscuit. “Honestly, those two are more and more difficult every year. I feel like I'm raising two children sometimes.”

Oh lovely, here she was, in the middle of the kitchen talking to the dog. Whatever, at least Kal would listen to her gripe. Pulling down a mug and two tumbler glasses, Nell set the kettle to boil and then picked up the bottle of Johnnie Walker that had appeared on the counter a few days ago. Likely a gift from someone.

One candy cane hot cocoa and two whiskey and rosemary sours, at the ready. In the other room, Nell could hear Ivan and Henry singing along to I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. Loudly Ivan belted out the line about the hippo being a vegetarian, Henry swaying back and forth as he laughed and unraveled the lights. To Nell's credit, when she had put away their Christmas decorations the previous year, she had done a much nicer job than Henry.

“Looking good, gentlemen.” Complimenting their work, Nell smiled handing Ivan the cocoa. “Yours is on the tray,” she kissed Henry's cheek. “I decided to make use of the Johnnie Walker.” She winked.

Taking his drink, Henry smiled. “It's your bottle,”

“Mine? Did you buy it?” Nell sat on the floor beside Ivan, working at picking out more decorations.

“No, it came the other day. Some guy dropped it off, did you not read the card?” Henry laughed, joining his family on the floor. Nell shook her head. “Hold on,” He stood back up, groaning a little.

“Mum,” Ivan spoke pulling out another bundle of lights, “when the tree is done, can I watch a movie?”

“You don't want to help dad finish with the computer?” Sorting the other items in the box, Nell sat back on her heels reaching for her drink.

“I guess, but I think I'd like to watch a movie with you. If you have time.”

“For you, wild boy, I have all the time in the world.” Nell leaned over giving him a kiss on the head. Wrinkling his nose, Ivan brushed his hand over his dark curls, resetting them the way he liked them. “Which movie did you want to watch?”

“I don't know, we can find one.” Ivan worked away at the strand of lights, getting them ready to go on the tree, when Henry came back in. His mother wasn't tall enough to read the top, which meant his dad would have to start the lights.

Decorating the tree with his parents, the three of them, felt a little odd. For as long as Ivan could remember there was always a huge production to decorating their tree. This year was quiet, like most things throughout the year. They would be video calling family over Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning, instead of having them there in person. They were supposed to spend Christmas with the Stewart family this year, as sad as Ivan was to miss his trip he understood.

“Here you are,” Henry waved the small card around, crossing the floor to hand it to Nell.

One the outside was a fancy script, containing her name in gold lettering. Opening the small card, the kind one gets with a delivery of flowers, she admired the generic looking winter scene.

“To Nelly & Superman, Merry Xmas. May 2021 be better than whatever dumpster fire this is,” she read out loud, chuckling at the sentiment. “Love always, JPS. It's from Jordan.”

“How lovely, didn't he send one last year as well?”

“He did, but he sent that really nice Riesling.” Nell confirmed. Since Jordan hadn't been able to make it for the wedding, he'd sent the gift instead. “Along with the Ardbeg, for our wedding present.”

Henry nodded, he remembered drinking both vividly. Although he didn't get much of the Ardbeg, because Nell had deemed it off limits to anybody who wasn't her. Past and present gifts sorted and settled, Henry stood up with the first string of lights in hand. “I think it's time we get these on, what about you?”

“About time.” Sticking out her tongue, Nell pulled out the tinsel and a box of ornaments. “Gosh, Cavill, you have been taking forever.”

“Can't rush perfection, my darling.” Henry smirked, attaching the first string of soft white lights to the stout tree in the corner.

“Is that why we took so long?” Ivan teased helping his mother carefully lift ornaments from boxes.

“Of course.” Henry nodded, excusing his procrastination.  “You know, I do love this tree.”

“It is a lovely tree. It's the perfect size.” Nell agreed with her husband. “I'm glad that we didn't go with a monstrous tree this year.”

Henry and Ivan had a habit of going for the biggest tree in the lot. This year, Nell had put her foot down, demanding that they pick something reasonable.

“I thought you liked a big, thick one.” Snorting, Henry paused to watch Nell's reaction.

“You, stop.” She wagged her finger at him. “Wild boy, can you go over to that blue storage bin and get the crystal star, please?”

The tree topper had been a gift from Henry's parents, the first year she and Henry had “unofficially” lived together. Nell had used it every year since, upon Henry's insistence that she kept it. Their first Christmas married, last year, his mother had wanted to gift them a new one. Politely Nell had declined, saying that she loved the one they had. Although, she was more than happy to accept the matching ornament set that went with it, as a late Wedding present.

“I love this star,” Taking the carefully wrapped box from Ivan; Nell placed it safely out of the way of Kal and Cavills.

“Lights are on.” Henry happily announced, clapping his hands together. “What's next?”

“Tinsel and bows.” Ivan sprung up with a card of tinsel, waving it wildly at his father. “Can I help?”

“What if I put on the tinsel, while you tie on the bows?”

“Deal.” Ivan nodded grabbing the gold and silver bows that Nell had made. They would soon be in need of some new bows. “Mum, momma, mum.” he bounced, “Want to help?”

“Sure, you take the gold and I will take the silver?” Standing to join Ivan and Henry at the tree. Nell took the card of silver bows, carefully tying them on to the boughs of the tree.

Over the next half hour or so, their tree began to come to life. The soft colours adorning the vibrant green really stood out in the otherwise neutral room. Laughing and teasing one another, Henry grabbed Ivan around the waist, spinning him – a safe distance from the tree – while Kal danced around them barking excitedly. Nell watched them with joyful delight, after the year they had endured it was nice to see her husband and son still keeping their happiness.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Transgressions || Morgan & Leah

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @phoenixleah & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Leah has secrets to reveal: one for herself, and one for Constance. Morgan finds that sometimes answers aren’t enough.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

“I still can’t believe you found something on her,” Morgan said, following Leah inside. “I must have torn up every other repository of books in town. I even had someone dig up legal documents from the town and county’s files. And all I got was a lousy death certificate, which was wonkily dated because when you surrender your body to pay for an infinite curse alone in the woods, no one’s around to clock your real time of death back in eighteen whatever. Nothing that could help satisfy even a knowledge-focused intention or answer literally anything substantive.” Morgan paused, smiling apologetically. Between all the attempted murder, ingredient hunting, and the convenient lack of support from Nell, Morgan felt like she was being cut down to one brittle edge. But Leah was a good friend, and she would give Morgan the missing pieces she needed in Constance’s story. Pieces she needed to make sense of the fuckery that had plagued her existence, and might give her something to twist the knife when she finally had her pinned down in the exorcism. “Thank you. You are the best. I’m sorry I’m kind of...on edge.”

As Leah led Morgan into the library, long after closing hours, her lips were pressed together to suppress a grin.  There was always a sense of pride that came with coming across information that no one else seemed to have access to, and the praise that came with it didn’t hurt, either.  She let out a chuckle at Morgan’s words, turning around to face her.  “This is what friends do”, she said, brushing off Morgan’s thanks.  “It’s so weird, but as soon as you mentioned her name to me, it sounded strangely familiar”, she explained, reaching behind Morgan to lock the entrance to the library behind them.  She had a few dusty tomes piled up on the front desk, pressing her lips together as she watched Morgan take them in.  They certainly weren’t books you’d find in a typical library, so she wondered if she’d take notice.  “A lot going on lately?” she asked at the admission.  

Morgan shrugged. “Okay, maybe not a lot by White Crest standards, but with the latest nonsense and my being stalked and hunted by a hundred year old ghost teenager, I’m feeling a little...end of my rope-y. You would think that the endless physical stamina thing would come in handy here, but while I am an expert at pulling a good old fashioned all-nighter, the whole not-being-able to sleep thing means my brain will, eventually, in its near inability to reach total unconsciousness, turn on itself and make everything happening to me worse.” She cleared her throat, realizing that she was veering dangerously close to dumping everything on Leah at once. “But! This is going to be great! I mean, she wrecks my car, she sends ghost minions after me, she tries to kill me and friends, it’s like, who are you? Why are you like this? Obviously we are way past reasoning and talking things out nicely, but I would feel pretty satisfied knowing how long she’s been this awful.” She hoped, more than anything, to walk away with what she had done to Agnes that finally made her realize how awful the girl was. Had she hurt her? Or someone else Agnes cared for? It made Morgan’s stomach clench to think of this curse being leveled against a teenage girl who’d just been trying to protect her family. The idea made the whole curse more twisted, that they were all punished for nothing from the very beginning. But the more she was forced to contend with Constance, the more it felt ikely. “Can you walk me through what you got? These definitely don’t look like your average tomes. Like, at all.”

As she listened to Morgan explain, Leah tilted her head to the side in curiosity.  “You need to rest”, she agreed with assurance.  “You’re feeling end of your rope-y because you’re probably physically and mentally at the end of your rope.  I think you’re poor brain has been non-stop stressed since everything with Deirdre and her mushrooms.”  She put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, noting the cool temperature compared to her own.  It was a relief that her friend now knew her secret, there was no longer stress about explaining mundane things away like her warmth.  There were far more important matters to worry about.  And tonight, apparently, another secret to reveal.  “So once we’re through with her, I’m definitely setting up a fae and zombie approved spa night somewhere in that gorgeous house of yours.” A soft smile began to grow the more Morgan ranted about this girl, … this Constance.  “Sometimes spirits that haven’t moved on have a very very specific one track mind… so… if it’s you she’s back for, it’s you she’s going to concentrate on.  We just need to figure out why.”  She bit her lip as she glanced back at the tomes, leading Morgan over to them tentatively.  “So… in order to tell you how I know what I do and make it make sense, I also need to, sort of, tell you something else about myself.  But this secret, Morgan, it’s even more important that it stays between us than my being a phoenix, okay?”  She glanced to the door that was now behind her, the one to the basement of the library that held years and years of private journals with supernatural knowledge.  “Have you ever heard of the Scribes?”

“No such thing as physical exhaustion for a zombie,” Morgan smirked, her mouth curling bitterly. “It never stops. It’s just the brain that gets tired. I’m pretty sure sapient consciousness wasn’t meant to run twenty four-seven, but that’s what spacing out into the abyss is for!” A small laugh bubbled out of her, but there wasn’t much joy floating in it. “It’s really not… I’m just being a baby. I want a break, I want the skinny ghost bitch gone, and I had this delusion that being done with my curse meant being done with all of this… tragic backstory deluxe family pack.” She sniffled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes before her tears could start running over and make a mess of the books and her makeup job. “Anyways, you were doing me a big favor and we were being proactive.” She moved in close to the books, brushing one open with the tip of her finger. The leather bound volume was—handwritten?

It was then that Leah’s question came. Morgan said nothing a moment, looking from the old journal, to Leah, and back again. “...I have, yeah…” she said slowly. “I kind of… there’s this place in the woods? Rio calls it the Scribrary. It’s been helpful to me over the months. Even if I don’t know how to feel about the whole… hands off, true neutral thing. But they’re not around anymore to—” She stopped, eyes going wide as she looked at Leah. “Is this? Are you—?” Her brain was struggling to compute. “Did past life you steal these?” She asked, lowering her voice to an amazed whisper.

“I don’t think working yourself to the point of exhaustion is being a baby, Morgan.  It’s predictable, honestly.”, Leah said, absentmindedly running her hands over the binding of the tomes.  She softened, sympathizing with Morgan.  “You’d think that your death ending your family curse would have been enough tragedy and inconvenience for one person, but, I hope after this, you can be done with all the bullshit. We’re going to get her gone, okay?  Both you and Constance need to rest, in your own way, and I’m one hundred percent sure we’ll find a way to make that happen.”  The scribary, she’d have to get Rio to get her in there sometime.  She had a lot of information, sure, but the tomes there had to have gone back even further than hers did.

Leah watched carefully as Morgan seemed to play her words around in her head, working out exactly what Leah could mean.  She was always worried if it was suspicious- to be so openly knowledgeable about the supernatural world, to be able to offer help or random spurts of information about any number of creatures.  Some people had to suspect, right?  Suspect that, while yes, the scribes were essentially dead, she and her family had somehow fallen through the cracks of the tragedies and misfortunes that befell them.  But then, there was Morgan’s question, and it was abundantly clear that there were no suspicions, at least not on her friend’s part.  It was a relief, honestly, because as one of the most intelligent and well-read people she knew, Morgan seemed like the person who, if anyone, would have suspected.  She couldn’t help but giggle at the question, her eyebrows raising in surprise.  “Steal them?” she asked, covering her mouth. “No...n-no, they’re not stolen.  They’re mine.”  She looked down at the ones in front of her proudly, pressing her lips together.  “Well, ...ours.  My family’s.”  She let out a breath, a sense of pride filling her up as she looked back to Morgan.  “Because we- well… the scribes aren’t all dead like everyone thinks.  The library’s always been a nice cover, honestly.”  She gestured to the door behind her as she spoke.  “The uh, basement is bigger than you’d think.”  She felt nervous again, hoping that this new information, another secret she’d been keeping from Morgan, wouldn’t turn her friend off in anyway. “It’s not something that many people know about me, because protecting this information is integral to protecting White Crest and the integrity of the scribes, but…”, she ran her hands over the dusty tomes in front of them, grinning, “...well, I’m pretty sure I wrote all of these myself.”

Morgan stared, waiting for some other catch to come in. “Yours,” she repeated. “And ours. Not you and me ours, but you and...your family ‘ours.’ Because you’re...for real scribes.” She gaped, trying not to laugh with disbelief. “Holy shit. The scribes are alive, and the scribes are you and---holy shit!” She doubled over, trying to process. Leah didn’t really seem like the bystander syndrome type. She was always ready to learn and share with anyone, a lot like Rio. Did Morgan have the scribes all wrong, or did it take a mini apocalypse for something good to grow? She turned upright, her face still awed. “I have a lot of questions. Like, a lot. But, I think the first one is...do you actually remember any of those...things? I mean, do you know her or is it more like...as if your great great grandma knew her? You...just discovered this, right? I mean--” Morgan reached out for one of the books, her hand frozen over the pages. “You don’t really know her, do you?”

Leah couldn’t help but laugh at Morgan’s reaction, the giggles bubbling up unexpectedly.  She knew most people thought all the scribes were dead, and honestly, most of them were.  Her family was rare in that they were able to keep their archives over all these years, and she attributed it mostly to some of them being phoenixes. She tilted her head once she calmed down, an apologetic look forming on her face.  “So, sadly, I don’t have many memories of writing this, or of what happened when I was writing it.  I mean, as a phoenix I should be able to piece together some things, but for some reason, that’s not so easy for me in this lifetime.” She really needed to explore the theory that something happened to her memories, because the older she got, the more inconvenient not knowing who she was in the past was becoming.  “I think that’s a better way to look at it.  But luckily… Great Great Grandma Lucrecia seemed to be pretty thorough”.  With that, she pulled the first tome off of the top of the pile, opening to a page that she had marked with a tab earlier.  She looked up at Morgan when she found the page, the traces of a grin playing on her lips.  “It seems like your friend Constance was surprisingly powerful”, she said, turning the book so Morgan could get a better look.

Leah’s giggles were reassuring to Morgan. She wasn’t offended by Morgan's confusion and she hadn’t been sitting on some secret past life friendship. “Okay!” She breathed, “No, that’s good. That’s really good.” She sighed again, laughing as she did. “I mean, you have these resources that literally no one else on the planet has, and you weren’t like, hiding things. Which is great because I feel like this whole time I just...cannot get people to understand why I need what I need out of this mess, and knowing that this is just...exactly what it seems like, which is a fucking miracle…” She wiped her eyes, realizing she was crying and wasn’t even sure why. “Anyway, uh, my thanks to Great Great Grandma Lucrecia. If there’s a way to pay respects to phoenix past lives or past incarnations, however that is, I want to know about it. And do that, if that’s okay.”

She gestured to the book, making sure it was really okay to get a look and peered in. It seemed like Constance had made a regular nuisance of herself at the local scribe library, gobbling up as many magic texts as she could. She told Lucrecia that she had mastered whatever else was given, enough so that Lucrecia was skeptical of her claims, but it seemed Constance could summon at least basic potential in multiple fields of magic. And of course, she didn’t care about using it with tact or responsibility, although Lurecia’s words were much kinder, even sympathetic about it. Constance was well-meaning, too eager, too desperate to impress. She was a prodigy, and she was interested in the art of spellcraft, hoping that she could challenge, and even outrun herself. “Wow, goodie for her,” Morgan grumbled bitterly.

She gestured for Leah’s help with turning the page and came across and entry that gave her pause. “Hey, Leah? What does this line mean? She makes it sound like...Constance was being mistreated? She had to call for a healer...again? Do we know if these injuries were actually attributed to home stuff, or could it have been more magic experimentation going wrong, do you think?” Arcane backlash was nothing to sniff at, but it didn’t necessarily go in line with the broken bones and bruises written about in careful, solemn detai. But then again, Morgan had barely tasted what the backlash of a miscast spell could do. Her mother had been so harsh on any of her flaws, she’d never had the chance to fail that spectacularly. “And what’s this about Agnes visiting with her? Are there more entries like this?”

“It’s a very rare person that gets to see these, Morgan,” Leah started.  “I still try my best to keep within scribe traditions, but it’s been more than a few times that I’ve had to break them to help someone in town.  I’m usually able to pull it off secretly, though.  Like you with the zombie stuff.  But I thought...there was no way knowing about your personal family history could have been explained away.”  She gave Morgan a light nod, signaling it was okay for her to continue.  Given Morgan’s history with books, it was clear she could be trusted not to damage anything. She watched Morgan take in the new information with rapt attention, remembering the little details she’d read earlier that week.  

“It seems that they were attributed to home things, but I can’t be sure.  The fact that I mentioned them in the journals makes me think that they’re supernaturally related.  They’d be some sort of spell backlash then, right?”  She cleared her throat, gesturing to the page.  “But then, there were so many other things to do with Constance that I seemed to comment on, as well”.   Leah pressed her lips together, watching Morgan carefully.  There had been more than a few entries that her past life had written that touched on something very specific.  Something she knew that the Leah, or Lucrecia of the time could definitely relate to.  Anges and Constance, Constance and Agnes.  It was clear what she had been hinting at.  Had she related to it, then, because she’d spent so much of her own time hiding a relationship like theirs?  “It seems that I… well I had some suspicions about how much time Constance and Agnes spent together.”  Although her head stayed low, her eyes traveled up to meet Morgan’s, searching them to see if they understood.  Even now, when Constance was a ghost hell bent on ruining Moran’s life, it felt wrong to out her.  

“Some traditions are meant to be broken,” Morgan said with a little smile. “I don’t know your whole scribe-y ethos, obviously, but I would figure that there shouldn’t be anything wrong with using your power or your knowledge to help people who need it. I mean, what’s the point of all that knowledge if you’re just gonna sit on it, right?” She continued to read, having to force herself to slow down and actually take in the old, loopy script and ink smudges. She was so focused on finding something that would say ‘reason for assholery here’ that Leah’s words reached her at a delay. “She worked in the house,” Morgan muttered. “They were close.” Which made the whole thing where Constance ruined her life extra shitty.

Then Morgan found the word. “Romantic.”

“Oh. You mean...Stars, what the hell? Who does something like this to someone they--” Morgan shook her head and kept flipping. “I guess I’m just glad she had her tiny claws in my great-great grandma and not 19th century you. Seems pretty safe to say you dodged a bullet.” Morgan shivered and started flipping ahead to the months before Constance’s death. “See, look, Constance was-- ‘cast aside.’ They fired her, I guess? But it doesn’t say why just that it was ‘unjust’. Thanks for the objectivity, Lucrecia.” Morgan rolled her eyes and skimmed for more clues. “Wait, you weren’t thinking that it was because they--because of Constance and Agnes, right?” She looked back at the book. Worse things happened to girls who kissed each other, even now. She took a slow breath. “I swear to every atom in the universe, if I was cursed and fucking murdered because of a bad breakup and homophobic parents…” Well, Constance didn’t have a head to roll. But Morgan could try and step up her efforts to get everything she needed for the ritual. Get an exorcist on the phone and see if she could speed things up.

Leah smirked at Morgan’s musing, and she nodded in agreement.  “Sometimes they are, with restrictions, of course.”  She watched Morgan as she read through the pages, taking in the information.  It must have been hard for her to be objective, when Constance had caused so much harm to her family already.  But Lead felt genuinely that there was something else she needed to understand before she knew the whole picture.  “Helping people with the information is what it’s for, I think.  And maybe, with the information I found here, we can find a way to help Constance move on peacefully”.

Leah let out a low, slow breath, closing her eyes as Morgan tried to process what she was reading.  She turned the book back toward herself briefly, only so she could find a specific section she’d flagged enthusiastically a few pages beyond where her friend had already been reading.  “It was a bit more than a bad break up, I think”, she said, pointing out the section of writing.  It was the most candid Lucrecia had been about the whole situation, and her past life seemed utterly torn about how to feel.  “They were going to...they had plans”, Leah elaborated, pausing a bit to turn the book back and let Morgan read on her own.  “But, when they were caught, well…”  she licked her lips, sighing sadly.  “Agnes sort of… abandoned her.  Blamed her, and they forced her out.  And Constance was left with… Well, she was left with nothing.  No home, no family, not even a future to build.  She had nothing, Morgan.  After she and Agnes had promised each other everything.  For all the time I- or Lucrecia spent talking about her frivolousness, I practically weep here in sorrow for how she was treated after they were caught.”  Part of her wondered still, if she had related in some way.

Morgan went stiff at Leah’s mention of the word ‘peacefully.’ It was true that she hadn’t brought up the details of the ritual she was gathering materials for. She didn’t have the stamina to be judged by or lose another friend. But she had kind of hoped that with all the anger and the generational angst she’d been put through, Leah wouldn’t assume giving Constance a peace she hadn’t earned as the default option. Morgan tried to think about at what point things had become so dead-set for her, if she could have ever stomached doing anything different without feeling like her body was going to destroy itself with rage.

She couldn’t.

Destroying her would have been the only way to end the curse, and as those fucking mirrors in that fun house had shown her, there had been no chance in hell Constance’s magic was ever going let her free. She’d been fate-screwed from the beginning and this, numb and broken with no rest or relief in sight, not for now, not for a whole fucking eternity, slipping away from everything, struggling to just manage herself into a ghost of normalcy, having to be bound just so she could take a break from controlling herself all the time.

“That’s just based on what past-you heard from Constance. Who, I would like to point out, also goes around calling herself ‘my justice,’ ‘my fate,’ and my doom.’ You know, when she’s not victim-blaming me for her own bullshit.” Morgan skimmed the words. It was horrible, and some part of it was almost certainly true, but she didn’t feel like dropping everything she’d been working for because, oh, poor baby, abandoned by a girl you liked. Like her curse hadn’t done that to Morgan so many times before White Crest. Like that balanced with all the women in her family she had ground up and broken into monsters.

Morgan closed the book abruptly and stepped away from it, not quite looking at Leah. “Thank you for trusting me, Leah.” She muttered, her voice flattening as she choked down her bitterness. “I appreciate what you’re risking by doing this, and your secret is safe with me.”

Leah alternated between holding her mouth shut tightly and worrying her lower lip with her teeth while Morgan spoke, knowing full well that convincing Morgan to take some pity on Constance wouldn’t be an easy task.  It made sense that Morgan felt the way she did- a lifelong curse that stubbornly followed her into her afterlife for something she had no part in was anything but fair.  But it also wasn’t fair what had happened to Constance.  She worried that striking back instead of trying to find a balance would just continue this cycle further.  “Past me seemed rather annoyed by Constance, mostly, or at least turned off by something about her.  Maybe I was pretentious, or maybe she was childish- who knows.  My point is, despite my aversion to her, I still seem to sympathize and write about what happened to her as if she’s the victim here…  It doesn’t negate all the horrible she’s done to your family, obviously, or to you.”  She let her eyes leave the dusty tome to find Morgan’s, searching them to try and find a way to get her point across.  “Betrayal and tragedy can do something to a person’s psyche, and that’s heightened in the afterlife if left unresolved- that’s all I’m saying.  And when all that tragedy is trapped inside someone for years upon years, thinking clearly is not going to be that someone’s forte.  This information is for you- it’s yours… I’ve made copies of things I found significant just in case you want to study more”, as she spoke, she slipped out a rather bulky folder from inside her desk, sliding it over to Morgan.  “It’s yours to do what you want with it, and despite my opinion, I know whatever you choose to do will be best for you.”

“Hey.” Leah reached out, gently grazing Morgan’s arm, as if that would offer some sort of comfort.  She knew it wouldn't, or couldn’t, rather, but it felt like a necessary thing to do before she spoke.  “I’m sorry this is happening.  You don’t deserve it, and I hope with everything that it’s over soon.  You’ll let me know if there’s any other way I can help, right?”

Morgan understood that Leah was just trying to be a good friend: talking as much dirt as she could manage about someone she had never met before who she knew Morgan hated, balancing her automatic sympathy (the same sympathy everyone wanted to give Constance just because she happened to make the decision that bound Morgan’s existence to perpetual suffering at nineteen) with a take she thought Morgan would appreciate more. As if it would make her stance sting a little less if Morgan thought they could bitch and stitch about her after work, as if this was just a case of clashing friend groups. Morgan’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice low and even and clear as she spoke. “I am intimately aware of how repeated traumas and tragedy can negatively impact someone’s ability to function, much less thrive. I’ve been in and out of therapy for fifteen odd years, processing my steadily growing pile of baggage and the truly awful things that were done to my mother, because of Constance’s curse,  that she then passed onto me in her own special way. It’s been over a hundred years of crushing my family until they turned that damage on themselves and each other. By the time I came along, the world I was allowed to have was so small… And, you know, I take a strong prescription that has to be injected directly into my brainstem along with some spinal fluid now that my circulatory system doesn’t work anymore, on account of Constance murdering me six months ago. So I get it. I do. I know suffering does something to you after a while.” Morgan’s lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep steady. “I don’t think I need your copies, but I’ll take them, just in case. Because I know you want me to.”

She flinched at Leah’s touch. Part of her was desperate to let it happen, to clutch her hand as hard as she dared and tell her everything, tell her to please, please understand what it’s like to find out you never had a chance, to be born as some invisible monster’s damage toy, to build up so much hope and wind up on the floor over and over again, to have your wires so fucking crossed you want to hide or break over anything that feels like calm or normal, because that means it’s all a second away from being smashed. She could never seem to find the words, and could never let herself back into those dark rooms that had been cut into her. Everything that happened to her was so absurd, so improbable, and with every curse year, the ordinary mishaps of existence sent spikes of terror into Morgan for days, for weeks. It was the best mindfuck of all because part of it, the worst of it, was real.

Morgan remained still, unable to press in, unable to shake her off. “It’s my damage, my problem. You’ve already done enough for me, Leah. I do genuinely appreciate that, and everything else. I should probably go now, right?”

“I-I didn’t mean to… I just meant that-”. Morgan’s reaction wasn’t at all unexpected, but it still made a mixture of guilt and sympathy ping in Leah’s gut.  This situation wasn’t as black and white as either of them wanted it to be, and there was no easy solution- no right opinions.  Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but how many wrongs was Morgan supposed to suffer before she was completely broken?  Still, there couldn’t have been a better way of dealing with Constance than benevolence, right?  Show her the thing she’d be constantly denied all those years ago, show her that change was possible, and send her off to rest peacefully.  Whatever afterlife karmic balance existed would deal with her crimes on their own.  “I’m sorry”, she said, finally.  “There’s no possible way for me to understand where you’re coming from, or how much you’ve been through. My intention was to make this easier, not more difficult for you.  I’m sorry if that’s backfired.”  

She blinked, pulling her hand away slowly after a small squeeze when she realized Morgan was going to remain stiff.  “It’s not only your problem. That’s what you have friends for, you know?  Like I said, despite what I think, whatever you choose is what’s best for you, because you’re incredibly intelligent and compassionate, and you know better about this than anyone.”  She looked around the empty library, letting out a slow breath as she gently traced the tome’s binding. You can leave, but if you’re up for it, I’d like to treat you for lunch.  I never repayed you for letting me stay with you and Deirdre and helping discover my sleepwalking.  How about some Al’s so we can forget about this shit? At least for an hour or two.”

Morgan tried her hardest to not cry in front of Leah. Up until this moment she had trusted Leah with just as much as she did the rest of her friends. Not Constance, that had blown up in her face enough times already and she couldn’t being tricked again, but the promise of an answer, something to tie her closer to Agnes, had been too much to say no to. She couldn’t slam the brakes on a trust like that, or tell her body this wasn’t worth it and have it listen. She scrubbed furiously at the corners of her eyes, but at  the word ‘intention,’ she let her arms fall limp and let the tears fall, surrendering to embarrassment of showing just how much she’d been hurt, just how tired and alone she felt for a walking corpse that could shamble on forever.

“You’re a really good friend, Leah,” she sniffled, staring at the cuffs on her jacket. “I know you’re trying and that’s, that counts for…a lot.” It was almost worth everything. More than she could reckon on from others she’d known longer. It gave her hope. Only, in the past few weeks, hope had cut worse than any other wound. Morgan let out a shaky exhale. “Um, I don’t really eat out anymore, and playing pretend sometimes makes me really sad, when I remember how good stuff used to taste, so I’m just gonna--” She gestured to the door, tried to smile like she was totally okay and certainly not on the verge of blubbering. “But maybe we’ll do something else another time.” Morgan didn’t have it in her to give even a half hearted wave. She shoved the photocopies into her bag and left, eyes narrowed only on the road ahead and how many steps she needed to get through the next minute, and the next, and the next.