#thank iii for making tiny (slightly) vessel happened

[learth-orbit]

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη - Pt. III

Pairing(s): Cursed!Seokjin x Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy Au, Fluff, Soulmate Au, Angst

Summary: “There’s a story whispered around here. One surrounding the beautifully carved statue of a man at the center of the town. Legend says that when the hand of his true love graces his palm, he shall wake from his cursed marbled slumber. It’s always been a silly old wives tale, until you give in to a friend’s dare.” (prompt idea from writing-prompt-s)

Warning(s): mild language

Word Count: 3.7k (oops)

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, …

taglist: @best-space-boy​ @maryelixabeth @mochimaw​ @yeontanismypresident​ @hannahantonette17​ @ign-is​ @fanfuckingfic​ @koala-wonderland​ @suchgayaesthetic​ @dulcaet​ @anoynmoustumbler​ @annoyingpessimist​

~ if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, feel free to send me an ask! thank you💜

“It’s also a pleasure to finally see you again, Althaia,” Seokjin adds after a not at all awkward pause while Mira swiftly prepared an herbal tea meant to relax her noticeably uncomfortable guests. Looking over the rim of your cup as you took a long sip, your eyes darted from the man now sitting at the table across from you to the woman seated to your right.

He was watching her intently as she swirled her spoon around her cup, lightly agitating the liquid to blend the honey she always added. She once told you she’s not one for bitterness, and because she could never find the perfect blend sweet enough on its own, honey would have to suffice.

A long, dramatic sigh accompanied her look of disinterest.

“I’m quite surprised, though you don’t seem to be.” Again, your gaze flitted between the two, unsure of what to make of the situation. Mira didn’t seem bothered at all, almost as if this whole thing was something she expected, or at least, knew might be coming.

Why was she not correcting him? Insisting he must be mistaken; her name is Mira, not...not Althaia or whatever he said. And how could he insinuate he knows her in any way? He’s been a statue since before you were even born and Mira is only a few years older than you.

Mira had remained quiet, content as Seokjin waited for any kind of response. It would make more sense if she had outright denied his accusations, shut him down and insist a mistake had been made. Instead, she slowly moved her attention from her earlier ministrations, softly gazing upon you for a brief moment, then turning to him.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d remember me after all this time, let alone be able to recognize me, Mr. Kim.” Her voice was low and calm, calculated as she mulled over just how to address the situation to come. Something about the tone of her voice didn’t sit right with you. This was no longer the slightly agitating neighbor you’d grown fond of.

This person next to you was entirely different.

In the deepest part of her being, Mira knew it from the moment she met you that things were finally changing.

“What do you mean ‘remember?’” you piped up over the silent stare down the two had unconsciously engaged in. At an utter loss, your mind had taken the small bits of information provided to try and come to some sort of viable conclusion, but to no avail. Perhaps your mind was still processing your own dilemma, and you couldn’t afford to lend any brain power to this situation, or maybe it was just too far-fetched to even fathom.

Now, the two stared at you as if you were some poor, pathetic creature or a doll made of porcelain. Pitiful was one way to put it and it made your insides clench and churn, the situation all too reminiscent of a lamb about to be sacrificed to the slaughter. Eerie how suddenly you were the only one without a clue and it didn’t help that it now felt as if you were seated next to two strangers and not just one.

After the two continued in an annoyingly cryptic battle of stares, almost prodding the other to speak first, you decide the time for silence and secrets is officially over. Slapping two hands on the oak table as you shoot from your seat, the crack of skin on wood makes them fully focus on you. Not even bothering to look either one in the face, you let out a hefty sigh and close your eyes, mind suddenly battling an intensely growing migraine.

“Look, I don’t know whatever ‘this’,” hands waving between the two of them, “is, but I’m tired and done. With everything. Feel free to settle this on your own, I’m going home.”

Before you could even make it 5 steps from your seat, the slightly ajar front door slams shut...on its own. Like a lone wind had decided to fiercely bound though the opening, or more fittingly, a spirit decided to trap you inside.

“The hell was that?” You mumbled to yourself as you cautiously approached the door, afraid it may come suddenly to life, considering the day you’d had.

As your hand curled around the cool metal knob, you heard someone rise from their seat, “Wait, Y/N, just stay and let...let me explain.”

Swiveling your head around enough to see Mira standing firmly by her chair, a scared expression on her face, the atmosphere shifted. It set you off, igniting a sense of, you’re not sure, maybe fear, within you. Something wasn’t right. Nothing about this whole situation felt right.

“I can’t do this. I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t feel right. I can’t be here...with you.” You weren’t sure what exactly was triggering this flight response within you. Not once in your time knowing her had Mira ever done anything for you to react this way towards her, but today, with her pushing you to touch the statue, to the odd sense of familiarity between Seokjin and her, to the strange aura suddenly radiating off her, it was all too much.

Your senses were overloading. Too much had transpired and you’d not been given enough time to properly digest anything. Going from a relatively boring life to one suddenly plagued by some kind of weird magic, sorcery, whatever it was, in the span of a few hours is too much.

The migraine you’d been fighting was on the cusp of becoming a full fledged breakdown.

Ignoring the protests of the two behind you, again your body moved towards the door, handle turning a fraction of an inch before everything stopped.

Seconds, maybe minutes you stared at the slab of wood. Not a muscle moved, like your entire body was paralyzed, only slow shallow breaths could escape the numb confines of your lips. As if you no longer controlled the only vessel with which you solely could. You were a marionette, controlled by invisible strings.

And then all at once, a warm tingly feeling seeped through your veins, bringing with it the sweet taste of freedom. Nerves alight, muscles contracting, you finally had your body back.

But with this came the intense fear of the whole situation. Every other thought within you was gone, mind shut down, body going into lockdown mode, syphoning your remaining energy into getting away.

Away from whatever this strange new danger was.

Slowly, cautiously, prey reacting to predator, you turned your body back to the table.

It hurt. Hurt to look at them. To look at her.

At first, a part of your mind jumped straight to blaming the newcomer, but deep in your soul, you knew.

She looked pained, as if she hadn’t just defiled you in some unbelievable and terrifying way. Like she had instead been the one to somehow become nothing but a husk reduced to a master’s bidding.

The questions of how and why were disregarded for a greater purpose, saving yourself from whatever was happening and preventing it from ever happening again.

How dare someone you trusted, cared for, looked up to, do whatever that hell that was to you, a friend, even for the fleeting moments she did.

The blood in your body was now cold, face pale and painted with such a deep look of betrayal you could feel the guilt radiate from her being.

“Y/N.. I-“

“Don’t.”

You didn’t even breathe when she flinched at the steel tone of your voice. This was all too much. This whole day was entirely too much. You needed to get away from this, from them, and you needed to do it now.

She knew what she’d done. Not only had she lied to you your entire friendship, but she’d hurt you in a way that shouldn’t be humanely possible. Panicked in her efforts to come clean to you, protect you, and protect herself, she’d acted too quickly, doing something she’d swore never to do again. It was one thing to keep secrets, but another to use them against someone.

Seokjin forgotten, you briskly made your exit, making sure they couldn’t see as the tears fell.

————

“If I see one more walk by, I’m going out there and beating the shit out of them,” you mutter to yourself halfheartedly underneath the comfort of the blanket fort you’d built in the living room.

After spending a few days trying to piece yourself back together, you’d decided the best course of action was: avoidance. Within the tiny walls of your home, you could stay cooped up in a safe space and forget everything that happened. Statue man could stay with her and you could go on with your life, without the both of them.

It seemed do-able at first, spending an unhealthy amount of time in bed, watching movies, the occasional brief call with your mother, but it of course couldn’t stay that way.

You’d been naive enough to think that the town would go back to normal, find something new to obsess over and forget all about you and the stupid statue.

Oh, how wrong you’d been.

Suddenly your house was like an attraction for everyone. As soon as the sun rose, you’d catch a few faces passing by your windows, just outside the front gate. There they’d sit for a few minutes, gawk and gossip, and eventually leave, and be replaced by a new set of oglers ready for a show.

You weren’t afraid of the attention, just miffed that your plan to lay low and be alone failed from the beginning.

Despite the annoyance from the nosy town folk, you were grateful that it had only been them, and not two other faces outside.

Watching the last of the group of young girls get bored and disperse from your window, you turn your attention back to the movie on your screen. As the characters moved and music played in the background, you forced yourself to try and focus on that. Instead, thoughts of Kim Seokjin and your friend weasel their way in over the noise.

What were they doing? Were they thinking of a way to fix things with you? Had they forgotten about you and moved on? How did she even do that in the first place? And what is the whole backstory between them?

The questions tore you up inside, fighting with the stubborn part of you that wanted to forget them completely. The other downside to isolating yourself was the immense amount of free time to think about everything that’s happened. It was a nightmare going over everything, every single bit that made no sense, bits and pieces not adding up in any way you could understand.

Just a few days ago you were a normal girl living life in a boring town fighting with your friend over the legitimacy of a town legend.

She was your only friend, the only person who listened, who understood. Could you forgive her for what she did? It was quite obvious she’d been keeping things from you, but for how long, and why? And Seokjin, your soulmate, how are you supposed to love someone you don’t know, who’s probably lived a whole life before yours even began?

If he is your soulmate, why didn’t he stop her? Did he feel the pain you did when you were robbed of your own self? How could he see you in such distress and not do anything? Why hadn’t it scared him as much as it had you? What parts of Mira’s hidden past was he privy to that you were not?

Perhaps you were putting too much onto the whole soulmates thing. After all, how could you expect a stranger to assert himself into such a personal thing, even considering the circumstances. When it all comes down to it, soulmate or not, Kim Seokjin is an outsider, an alien to you.

He is no more a part of your life than the nosy towns people, the visiting tourists, or the migrating birds. You don’t owe him anything, and he you.

The only thing you could wish for him right now, is to go about his own life and not force himself into yours.

Pillow clutched unknowingly tight to your chest, grounding yourself, you couldn’t help the dull ache in your heart. That was the only thing you would allow yourself to chalk up to the soulmate thing. Maybe one day, like them, you’d be able to ignore it too.

Movie long abandoned, you trudged your way back and forth, pacing across the wooden floorboards like a caged animal. You were desperate to get out, see the stars, breathe in the fresh air, but your body was still afraid of what leaving these four walls might incur. Whether you were ready to face them or not, you couldn’t sit there and drive yourself insane any longer.

The sun had set hours ago, the light from the moon casting a hazy white glow over the landscape, and you were desperate for even just a second to bask in it.

Grabbing a light jacket to fend off the chilly night air, you brace yourself, hand wrapped tightly around the door knob, and take a deep breathe.

Now that you were truly thinking about it, it must look overly pathetic from an outsider’s perspective. You’d been holed up in your home for four days now, only peeking suspiciously through your windows to glare at the onlookers and then returning to a pitiful mope-fest with only one attendee; you.

You owed it to yourself to snap out of it, move on, and go back to life as normally as possible. The only thing you could control was yourself. It doesn’t matter what others do or don’t do, you need to do what you can, for you.

And right now, that’s enjoying some fresh night air and being brave.

Taking that first step out onto the front porch is what you imagine the first astronaut on the moon must’ve felt. The most mundane of things became a huge feat, and you weren’t about to ruin it for yourself, no matter how silly it seemed.

Looking out across the street, the sidewalk empty and streetlights dim, it was like you were finally yourself again. The stars above and the moon shining bright made the first smile in days appear.

All of the worries, the questions, the bitterness lifted away by a light breeze, the clouds in your head dispersed and you had the sudden urge to forgive. All your life you’d been quick to judge and draw conclusions, but something within you told you there was more to this than meets the eye. You needed the truth.

Like fate had been keeping a close eye, your attention was drawn to the figure making its way along the outside of your fence line. The long dark hair caused a breathe to catch in your throat, and you were suddenly questioning if you were really were ready to face things.

She stopped just before the gate, head looking up and catching your eyes with her own.

Hesitating, she clears her throat, “I...I didn’t think you’d be up.”

Watching as her hands lifted up, you spot the neat paper bag tucked within her palms.

Still afraid to say anything, not trusting yourself to stay calm and collected, she continues.

“He’s been asking a lot about you. I wanted to do something...to apologize.”

She pauses, waiting to see if you’d run away or tell her to leave, but when you nod in the direction of the bag, she finishes, “I showed him how to make your favorite cookies. But I thought it be best if just I came to drop them off. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Arms protectively crossed over your chest, you take another deep breath and slowly descend the porch on step at a time. Instead of meeting her at the gate, you plant firmly in the grass.

“Why?”

It sounded choked coming out and you hated that. Not only did you not want to seem weak in front of her, you didn’t want her to think you hated her. The only thing you want is the truth. She owes you that much.

Mira fidgets a moment and returns her attention to you, not quite in the eyes, but it’s close enough.

“I didn’t mean to-I just-“ Tripping over her words, not exactly sure how to begin or where to go, you stop her quickly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Finally meeting your eyes, she sees the strength you’ve managed to muster up, sees that twinge of forgiveness at the helm and realizes it’s now or never.

“I’ve wanted to explain everything, I just wasn’t sure how to go about it.”

“So instead you instigate me to break some curse you already somehow knew I’d be able to, pretend to be someone your not this entire time, and somehow posses me and take away my free will?”

The look of shame that melted onto her face struck a chord of guilt deep in your soul, but this was something you had to do. For too long you let others have free reign, it was time to take control.

“I wasn’t sure if you could handle it, or even believe me in the first place...”

“And how am I supposed to ever believe you now? I don’t even know who you really are, what you are...”

Tension building quickly in the cool air, things were becoming muddled. You weren’t even sure what you were pushing for, a confession? A secret so dark and unbelievable it was grounds enough to hide from you for as long as you were friends.

“I’m a witch.” There’s a long pause. You both stand there, staring at each other, unsure of who’s to make the next move. Mira’s afraid she’s just divulged her dangerous secret to someone who can’t handle it, and you’re afraid you’ve officially lost your mind.

“I know I sound like an old record player by now, but maybe we should take this somewhere more,” she pauses to look around the darkness cautiously, sending a shiver down your spine, “private?”

————

Turns out cookies at 2 in the morning are a good way to smooth over the confessions of the magical past of your only friend. Not going to lie, you’d taken plenty of breaks to try and absorb and process the incredible amount of information Mira, or formerly known as Althaia in the late 1800s, if you can believe it, had to unload on you. In her defense, you’d pushed her quite hard to open up and be 100% honest with you.

“So, you just...change your appearance and house every few centuries and pretend to be someone else?” Rubbing your head to ease the growing headache as you mindlessly shoved another cookie in your mouth, you felt like a little kid asking an adult really strange questions that shouldn’t have a serious answer.

Mira nods, wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee you made her and taking a sip.

“And you knew Seokjin when he was alive, well, in his own time, before he turned into a statue?”

She cringes a bit and it catches your attention, “About that...”

-

“You mean, you’re the one that cursed him?!?” It was probably the hundredth time you’d asked her that in the past half hour, but you couldn’t help it, you suddenly felt like you were going crazy, trapped in some bad supernatural rom-com or something. 

Sighing loudly enough to voice her growing impatience with you, she nodded, “Yes, for the millionth time. I put the curse on Kim Seokjin.”

“Well, why?” Resting your chin in your palms, eyes wide like a child, you prayed further. You just couldn’t understand why on Earth she’d curse him in the first place. Even if she is a witch, what could have warranted him to invoke a curse? And why this particular curse?

“Well, it’s not really my story to tell...”

Holding true to your childish theme growing in this conversation, you pouted, bottom lip sticking out and leaning forward on the table, “But you cursed him, how is not yours to tell?”

Mira only shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips at your antics. You’d only shown your stubborn side like this to her on few occasions, and it made her laugh at how you could be so apathetic one minute and youthfully enthusiastic the next.

“True, but there’s much more to it than it seems. Besides, I think it’s time you both get together, talk, and figure things out.”

Your silent for a moment, fighting another pout and mulling over her words. Then suddenly, it hits you.

“Well, if you’re the one who cursed him, you can break our soulmate bond too, right?”

Her grin morphs into a neutral line, lips curled in. Like she’s trying to think of the best way to let you down.

“The thing is, I only enacted the curse. The means to break it were decided by fate, not me.” The look of disappointment that washed over you couldn’t help but bring a prick of guilt from the witch.

She’d invoked the curse reluctantly to help another, and now she was hurting someone again. If she could go back, maybe she’d have done differently.

Silence again stretched out between the both of you. It was one thing when it was some folk lore from town, but now knowing the truth, and knowing it is all very real and unavoidable; unfix-able, it’s a harder pill to swallow.

“Do you,” you squeak softly, eyes trained on the floor, “do you think we can actually do this? That I can do this?”

Mira’s hand reaches across the table to softly grasp your own. Despite your protests, a small tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you rush to brush it away.

“I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Even though she understands, she wants to hear you say it, for yourself to hear it.

“Of being tied to a stranger forever. Forced to be with someone I may not ever fall in love with...”

“To possibly fall for someone who’s forced to be bound to me forever, who may never truly love me back.”

__________________________________________________________

A.N., 

 Not going to lie, writing this portion was like pulling teeth. I’m not 100% happy with how it turned out, but in order to progress the way I want, I needed some things cleared up first. Now that we know Mira’s little secret, how will Y/N and her’s dynamic change? How will Seokjin fit into Y/N’s life and this new world? I promise, Y/N x Jinnie shenanigans are coming in the next part! 

 -Moonie🌙

[expressandadmirable]

Tomorrow Untrodden (Morgan)

I.

“Hey.”

Morgan offered a wan half-smile. “Hey.”

Pulling the Lefein into a soft hug, Aviva was struck by the memory of hugging Morgan the Gnome. Back then she had been half the Tiefling’s size rather than half a head taller. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” The pair released one another and settled onto a bench in the hallway, the soft, misty light from the windows at either end making the world seem preternaturally quiet. “He was happy to see us. He told us a couple times.”

Aviva considered making a joke about how impossible it had always been to unravel Lukahn’s ramblings, even for someone as adept at prophecy as Elerian or Cid, but she thought better of it. Morgan had always had a gift for deciphering her spiritual kin. “You came to see him often, huh?”

Morgan nodded. “Uncle Cid and I made regular trips. We built a lot of card houses, and we told him how the world was changing. I came up with a lot of ways to play games differently, like extra rules and variations and stuff, and he really liked that.” She smiled. “Maergrahn trained me well, I guess.”

“Was he able to leave you with any parting thoughts?”

“A few. Mostly he told us he was happy. And he asked me to build an extra large card house in his honour.”

“Sounds like an appropriate cairn.”

Morgan snorted, then let it fade into a sigh. “Uncle and I are the last of the Lefein now.”

Aviva nodded slightly. “How are you feeling?” The eternal question.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” For a brief time, Aviva had known what it felt like to be the last of her kind. But they had been able to restore the Tieflings. The Lefein did not share that destiny. She took Morgan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want to come back to Aelfheim for a bit? Spare room’s yours whenever you want it.”

“Uncle and I need to take care of a few things first. We’re going to scatter Lukahn’s remains in places of significance to the Lefein. It shouldn’t take too long, with the Highwind. But then yes. I’d like that.” Morgan smiled a little more broadly. “I think Starman is pining for Demon.”

Aviva chuckled. “I know Demon’s pining for Starman, she regularly tears up the toy you gave her that looks like him and then cries at me until I mend it. Please let our cats reunite before she drives us mad.”

Morgan giggled. “Okay. I’ll come by once I’ve dropped Uncle back at his lab. Maybe a week or so.” For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, then laced her fingers with Aviva’s. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Aviva kissed the Lefein’s cheek. “You’re family.”

II.

Leaving Halei in their sitting room, Aviva grinned in anticipation, the air turning translucent gold as she cast her spell. A moment later, the bridge of the Highwind shimmered into view. “Cidney!” she called. “I’m here early, and I brought treats from Aelf--”

“‘Viva, get down!!”

Instinctively, Aviva ducked, just in time to see a bolt of energy streak through where her head had been. Turning in a crouch, she realised the ship was listing precipitously to one side, the internal gravity only thing keeping her from tumbling into the window. “Cid?!”

Another bolt of energy struck the floor near her knee. A mote of flame instinctively forming in her palm, she spun to face her attacker and nearly collided with Morgan coming for her at a sprint. “Cid, what in all the hells?!”

“Behind my chair!”

The pair dove beyond the captain’s chair just as the hulking metal humanoid at the other end of the bridge fired again. Calculating the distance of its prey, the living tech lumbered towards them. “Making friends?!”

Morgan flashed her a lighting quick withering look, then raised both guns and fired, hitting the tech square in the chest. “Lefeinish creation. Prototype servitor. In near perfect working condition, and I’d like to try and keep it that way--” She ducked to avoid a retaliatory blast. “So don’t hit it in the head!”

With a curt nod, Aviva let loose handful after handful of searing flame, dutifully aiming for the torso. Morgan reloaded her guns with practiced efficiency and separated the tech’s joints from its body, causing it to topple forward onto the deck. In perfect unison, each woman took one final shot, and with a frustrated whir, the tech stilled.

Silence crept across the bridge. Morgan stood cautiously, stepping out from behind her chair and nudging the tech with her boot. It did not move. Confidence instantly restored, she crouched by its head. “Well, that didn’t go how I expected.”

“And how, exactly, did you expect that to go?” Aviva straightened, then leaned against the chair.

“How was I supposed to know it had defence protocols?” Morgan replied testily, rapping on the tech’s head. “Just means I have to run more diagnostics before I turn him on again.” Sensing Aviva opening her mouth to retort, Morgan waved a hand. “It’ll be fine.” Every inch the mad scientist. She pushed to her feet, straightened her hair, then turned to Aviva with a wide, delighted smile.

“You said you had treats?”

III.

“It’s time.”

Halei set up from her place on the sofa, instantly alert. “Are you sure?”

Aviva glared at her wife, then doubled over as a contraction shot through her, leaning against the dining table for support. “Yes,” she forced through gritted teeth, “it is most definitely time.”

“Right.” Appearing at Aviva’s side, Halei helped her into the bedroom and over to the bed. “Mei and your mother are in the garden; I’ll fetch them first, then Elerian. You breathe. What else do you need?”

“Infinite willpower. And water.” Aviva winced in pain as Halei turned on her heel, then an irritated chirp drew her attention to the corner of the room. From a nest of old fabric, the amber eyes of Demon of the Abyssal Reach stared back at her. “You too?”

“Hmm?” Halei returned from the kitchen, pressing a mug of water into Aviva’s hands. “Me?”

“No, Demon.” Aviva nodded to the ball of black fur. “I think she and I are on the same timeline.”

Halei’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s far too many babies for one set of quarters.”

“I’ll say.” Aviva sipped her water. “Well, I promised I’d tell Cidney when either Demon’s clock went off, or mine, so…” Flicking her fingers in the familiar gestures of Sending, she announced into the air in front of her: “I’m going into labour -- and so, I think, is my cat??” She took another drink of water as she listened to the response, then promptly spat it out in a burst of manic laughter.

“What?” Halei pressed. “What did she say?”

Aviva looked up at her, her breathing laboured and her eyes watering, though whether due to joy or contractions was unclear. “‘What did Elerian do to your cat?’”

IV.

“This might be the best augment you’ve made.”

Morgan grinned, sliding into the steaming bathwater and letting out a happy sigh. “There we go. Worth it. I wasn’t using this space as a cabin anyway.”

“No?” Aviva laughed. “I guess your garden variety servitors don’t use beds.”

“These aren’t garden variety servitors,” Morgan replied haughtily. “They’re salvaged Lefeinish tech, updated with my own personal designs. They don’t make them like this in Scanderimus, no matter how good they are down there.”

Aviva humphed in acknowledgement. Morgan had spent years collecting and restoring these specimens and they ran the Highwind like clockwork -- in some cases literally, given her clock-making background. It did, however, mean that the majority of Morgan’s interactions with living people came in the form of shopping for supplies or visiting Aviva and her family. “Have you made one from scratch yet?”

“Not yet.” Morgan slouched further into the water, creating tiny ripples that lapped against Aviva’s chest. “I think I’m gonna try soon, though. I have enough small pieces to build most of the chassis, and I think I could synthesise the rest. I can do all the internal programming. After that it’s just a matter of designing the right exterior. If I’m gonna make it entirely by myself, I want it to be really special.”

“Like you?”

That caught Morgan off-guard. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think I would make it look like me, but less metallic would be interesting.” She paused. “It won’t be like me. I mean, it won’t have a spark. I was an anomaly.”

Aviva watched her, head tilted in thought. “Anomalies can happen more than once.”

Morgan slid up to her nose in the water, her white hair piled atop her head like a captive cloud, and she thought for a few long moments before coming up for air. “They can. I guess it could happen.”

“Would you like that? Is that something you would want?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Spying Aviva’s raised eyebrow, Morgan glowered. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered if there were ways for me to do it on purpose, but I don’t think there are. It’s just random. So I haven’t gotten my hopes up.” She met the Tiefling’s gaze. “But I think I would like that, if it happened.”

Aviva smiled. “I could see that being… really nice.” She grinned. “Parenting without the childbirth.”

“What, no!” Morgan squealed, water splashing as she sat up. “I wouldn’t be its parent! Maybe its teacher, or its caretaker. But I wouldn’t be giving it life, I’d just be building a vessel.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Aviva leaned back, resting her head on the lip of the bath. “I may be relatively new at it, but that sounds an awful lot like parenting to me.”

“Maybe.” Morgan watched the ripples on the surface of the bath. “Maybe.”

V.

“Cid,” Aviva slurred, rolling her head to look lopsidedly at the Lefein at her side. “Ciiiiiiidney.”

“Mmmwhat,” Morgan responded, blinking the Tiefling into focus.

Aviva grinned brightly, if sloppily. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Morgan reached for her bottle of wine, nearly knocking it over in the process. “I’m glad I’m here too. You know I’ll always come visit.”

“I know, but I mean, like… here.” Aviva gestured broadly with her own wine bottle. “In the world. In my life. I’m real glad you’re here.”

Spreading her arms wide, Morgan pulled Aviva into a hug, nearly tipping them both over in the process. “Me too.”

(Art by @stufflaalikes​)

[etching-bones-moved]

Wattpad // Fictionpress // 22:39 tag

Episode two: III

The time came for Carthy to organise another kill.

She met Vincent Everett, at his request, in a penthouse apartment overlooking the river. He'd promised a lavish meal for them to talk over, a fine selection of drinks, and an opportune disruption to the building's security cameras. Sceptical at his refusal to say who he wanted dead, but not one to turn her nose up at free food, Carthy had accepted. She'd even dressed up.  

Climbing up the building’s stairwells, irritated endlessly by how her blue sheath dress kept rising up her thighs, Carthy was beginning to regret that decision. These heels were murder to her poor feet, and her jewellery would not stop clinking.  

Vincent met her at the door, eyes lit and cheeks already flushed. He was middle aged, slightly paunchy but otherwise well kept. His gaze was distinctly appraising.  

"Beautiful, as well as talented." he said by way of greeting, inclining his head and smiling, "Won't you come in?"  

Snake, Carthy surmised, noting the fluidity with which he took her coat and led her into his dining room, the ease with which he covered his ogling with a layer of charm. What sent you running to me?  

Her guess was debt, simply because he didn't look like someone who could resist indulgence. Everything he wore looked incredibly expensive, from the silk of his half-buttoned shirt to the chunky gold of his watch. His apartment- one of many, he'd said- was gorgeous. Utterly beautiful. Some walls were brown brick, others were papered with cream threaded through with subtle metallic detailing. All were dotted with art, aside from those with huge windows, through which you could see the city stretched out beneath them like a bumpy spread of tiny stars.  

Clicking softly over the gleaming wooden floor, following Vincent to his dining room, Carthy found herself exceedingly jealous.

“I’m not usually in the habit of entertaining such esteemed guests,” Vincent said, filling her crystal glass to the brim. Red wine, vividly gorgeous in colour, “Please do let me know if there’s something that could be improved, to be better to your liking.”

“This is sufficient.” Carthy replied, eyeing the starters he brought over. They looked and smelled divine. Were they a deliberate distraction?

She took up her wine, sipped it, and gave him a lilting smile. He relaxed to it. Clinking their glasses together in precise, watchful motions, the pair began to eat.  

“You have a reputation for discretion.” Vincent began some minutes later, wiping the corners of his mouth with a fine, monogrammed handkerchief, “I am hoping you can extend this service to me, I come to you with an exceedingly… how shall we say… delicate matter.”

Carthy raised her brows, prompting.

“I should, by all accounts, be a rich man.”

“Oh really?” Carthy asked, no indication of her satisfaction on her face, “Am I to take it something is preventing this?”

“Someone.” Vincent corrected, smiling pleasantly but through gritted teeth. He took the next moment to stand, and ferry the main course to the table. Surprised, Carthy noted the set of his jaw and realised that already his composure had slipped further than he would have liked. Vincent apparently could not tolerate appearing anything but polished.

Control freak, Carthy thought to herself, seeking to impress and intimidate, always. He is not enjoying having to outsource this.  

“Someone,” Vincent continued, “Is in the way of me and my fortune. I married a very rich woman, who’s keeping me on a- tighter than expected leash.”

This is what you call a tight leash?

“Her name?” she asked, swirling her wine round her glass. She’d decided to wear earrings, but now found they weighed far too much. Combined with the atmospherically dim lighting and orchestral music, Carthy’s head was beginning to throb.

“Luisa,” he said, smoothing down his sleeves and straightening his cufflinks, “If you agree to take the job, I’ll provide you with more information.”

Luisa, stinking rich, anywhere in the 20- 60 age range, recently wedded to Vincent Everett in likely a garishly public ceremony. Carthy could find her full name, tax records and favourite holiday resort with that information alone, but there was no point in letting Vincent know as much. Slighted contractors became terribly awkward.

“So, dear Luisa isn’t as amendable as you’d hoped she’d be, and now you want her dead?”

Vincent shook her head.

“No,” he said slowly, “My wife is already dying. Brain tumour, inoperable. Highly tragic of course.”

You knew that before you married her, Carthy took from his words and light tone. You’re a gold-digger, through and through.

“Do you get any of the money, when she dies?” Carthy asked, filling her voice with a detached curiosity. It wouldn’t do to let any of her judgement show.

“I thought I would have all of it.” said Vincent, refilling both of their glasses, “But recently I discovered she’s left me but a pittance. The majority of it is going to her daughter.”

Ah.

“And I suppose your bet is, if your wife suddenly no longer has a daughter, the money will instead go to you?”

“That is correct. She has no other relatives to leave it to, no favoured charitable endeavours. I am the next best option.”

“Are you quite certain you wish to act on that chance?” Carthy asked him. Vincent pursed his lips.

“My step-daughter is set to inherit just under £50 million that would otherwise be mine.” was all he said, chin lifted in an expression of dark indignation, “Of course I wish to act on it.”

£50 million. Carthy near saw stars.

“And if it isn’t left to you?”

“Then there are legal routes I can follow, once my wife is dead. It will all be easier with the daughter gone.”

Carthy sat, and mulled this over. While she did so, the pair of them moved onto dessert. Thus far, her odds of killing this unfortunate heiress did not seem high.

“I want it staged as an accident, preferably within the month.” Vincent continued in confident, rolling tones, “I don’t care where it happens, or how, just so long it doesn’t at all lead back to me. You can make it gruesome, if that takes your fancy. I wouldn’t know how the mind of a contract killer works.”

Briefly Carthy considered laughing at him, then dismissed the idea.  

“Tell me more about the daughter.” she said, keeping her control, savouring her next mouthful of strawberries and cream. Vincent’s face flickered, a fine layer of distaste settling over his features.

“She’s a brat.” he said smoothly, “Spoiled, immature. She neglected to come to her mother’s and my wedding day, which dearly grieved us both. She misses no opportunity to spite me.”

“How so?”

“She refuses to live under the same roof as me. She refuses to defer to my will.”  

“Does she have any unpleasant business ventures? Drugs, money laundering, organised crime? Exploitative companies?”

Vincent shook his head.

“I’m quite certain she’s never done anything entrepreneurial in her life. Quite an unsuitable heir to a business empire, one would think.”

“Has she raised her hand to you? Vandalised your property, or that of her mother?” Carthy asked, changing tack.

“Of course not. Do you imagine I’d allow myself to be beaten so by a girl?” Vincent seemed to find this highly amusing, and Carthy had to sternly remind herself not to make a scene. Stabbing his hand to the table with a fork just wouldn’t do.

“Has she actively pressed to have you written out of her mother’s will?”

“No, but she hasn’t supported my claim to be written into it for a substantial amount. Nor did she agree to give the money onto me separately after Luisa’s death.”

“Does she know her mother is dying?”

“No, I don’t think so. Luisa hid it from her. Why do you care?”

Hid, past tense? Is the daughter estranged? Does the mother hide it because of distance, or love, or both? The daughter is inheriting, they can’t dislike each other very much…

“Where is the daughter now?” Carthy asked, and Vincent’s jaw set once more, so minutely she wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t happened before. Not used to not being answered, are you?

“She’s elsewhere.” he said, dismissively. As he shifted, the candlelight winked off the glass face of his golden watch, “Studying. She was always home-schooled before.”

Young, then. Probably never done anything ‘normal’ before in her life, probably getting a thrill from it, probably been looking forward to it for years. No wonder her mother hasn’t told her.

Carthy found herself feeling… sorry, for the girl, which made everything utterly useless. The target was undeserving, the contractor unlikable but hardly enough so to bother killing. The only thing she Carthy to gain here was the rest of her cheesecake, which she now gobbled down with unreserved haste.

“So you’ll take the job?”

“No.” she told him, downing her drink before standing, “My apologies, Mr Everett, and my thanks for a wonderful meal, but I do not believe I can help you.”

For a second he only stared, expression peculiarly dull. Strains of music rose up in the silence between them.

“I can offer you £500,000.” he finally got out, voice struggling to remain even. Carthy’s entire being clenched, because £500,000… she could move far away from here, to a different country even with that kind of money. She could invest in a new profession, something decent and legal. She could reinvent herself, entirely.

The offer was tantalising. Bewitching.

“You are in debt.” she said instead, a fact she didn’t know to be true until he visibly flinched, “You cannot afford to pay me £500,000.”

“I can pay you afterwards.” he said, blood vessel fluttering at his throat. Elevated heartrate, stress response. Carthy suddenly had the impression that this had happened before.

She shook her head.

“That won’t do.” she said firmly, “I will not perform such a service before being paid. And besides, Mr Everett, I find your manner to be quite contradictory to mine. I do not believe it wise that we work together.”  

“You’re making a mistake.” he said, still like something waiting to pounce, sheen above his upper lip like somebody terrified.  

He was all posturing, little content, and obviously inexperienced. Carthy did not imagine he’d be able to convince anyone proficient to take up his offer, especially if they cottoned on to the debt he was in. With no money and no strong-arm, Vincent couldn’t become dangerous. Carthy would not worry about him further.

“I wish you luck on your business endeavours.” she told him, with as much graciousness as she could muster, “But they are not for me. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” Vincent expelled, rising in a clumsy clatter, but it was far too late to change Carthy’s mind. Leaving his exclamations behind her, she strode away, retrieved her coat, and stepped through Vincent’s front door with a decisive click.