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...
