Memories float through her head, recollections that she had lost and found again -- and sorely wishes that she hadn't... Morgan sits at the kitchen table of her home. Everyone else is asleep for the time being, she's still stuck on the schedule she'd gotten on when she lived with Adam's pack... No. It wasn't Adam's pack -- it was Camille's. She might have been primarily bound to him but Camille owned all of them...

She stares at the sunlight that streams through the kitchen window, filling the room with a warm light that would be comforting if she weren't so lost in her own pain, if she weren't throwing such a fucking pity party. It's not like she doesn't have the right to feel bad for herself, after everything that's happened to her in the last decade. Her mind feels like a muddled mess of scars and open wounds, throbbing with infection and dripping blood everywhere. Morgan is almost certain that the people around her can see it, that even if she tried to hide it, it would be obvious. That was what'd drawn Adam in in the first place, right?

That she was so fucking wounded, that she was so fucking broken. And now it was worse. She clenches her fists, keeping her eyes fixed on the shifting light that plays on the surface of the table. Three times. It had happened three times. Somewhere out there in the world, she had three children and she'd forgotten they even existed. The memory of them taken from her... She doesn't know what to do with that information: she doesn't want to be a mother. She doesn't want anything to do with them, not after how they were forced on her but... She doesn't want to leave them with Camille, to whatever fate that monster has in mind for them. The thought of that makes nausea rise in her stomach all over again and she has to fight to keep herself from throwing up. They probably weren't even really people or children as she would recognize them -- over the last five years, Morgan had seen again and again what Camille was willing to do, what she enjoyed doing to anything that reminded her of the Fae.

More than likely, the only Morgan would be able to do is...give them a quick and merciful death. She shakes her head. It's not exactly true that she doesn't want them, that she doesn't want to be a mother: the moment she had known they existed, the moment the memories were recovered... She'd desperately needed to find them, needed to make it up to them somehow, that she had abandoned them. Let someone take them. She lets her head fall onto the table, shoulders shaking with tears.

Morgan can't even ask for help, now -- this is her responsibility. They're her kids, even if Camille had twisted them into... That's what really hurts, what's really breaking her down. They're out there, they're alive still. They're just kids -- babies, really. They can't be any older than three or four...

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