"I'm tired," she whispered, her head in her hands as she tugged at her hair. The large leather couch was threatening to swallow her as she sat there with her knees pulled up to her chest, gazing absentmindedly out the front bay window across the lush green yard. She had fecked up. She knew it. She would acknowledge it. She was just tired of being ineffectual, being coddled. She was tired of the same old runaround with Trevor. She didn't feel like a person anymore, and something had to give before she got herself killed - or worse, somebody else.
A ball of acid had sat itself in the pit of her stomach ever since Aeron and Kieran had taken to the skies like gods of old, and left her here, a mere mortal. A mere mortal with one of the Nine, apparently. She hadn't forgotten the bombshell Aeron had dropped, revealing what Morgana had suspected of Trevor for some time, before promptly exiting stage window.
He remained silent, sitting on the couch across from her. She was afraid this had run its course. She was a danger to him and he made her dead stupid, maybe even in a way approaching literally. Of course, running its course carried the presumption that a course had even been set to begin with. She wasn't so sure that was the case here. They had had potential that remained untapped and unexplored and now could very well be left to wilt and die. Maybe she was okay with that.
Who was she kidding. She would never be okay with that.
She stood up, forcing her legs to move; one in front of the other. She brushed her hand across his shoulder as she walked past him, and for one brief moment time froze. She looked down at him; his hunched shoulders, the whiskers darkening his cheeks, the bags darkening his eyes. This was tearing him apart as much as her and that was truly her only solace in this moment.
He continued looking down at the floor, and for a moment her fingers itched for more, and instead she exercised self control and started off towards the kitchen. He lifted his head, and then a hand, and seemed as if he was about to follow her, but the spell was quickly broken, the moment shattered into pieces that may never be gathered together again and made whole.
The house itself seemed to rattle its very bones. "Trevor?"
"I hear it," he said quickly, standing abruptly.
They could both trace the sound upstairs, and Morgana immediately sprinted for the sweeping grand staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. She paused for a second at the landing on the second floor, doing a quick mental sweep and then clearing the area, before she continued on upwards. The third floor was empty as well, and so it was onto the "attic," which was really just the fourth floor, unfinished and used as a storage space. She hadn't ventured that way in years.
She came to a halt, and Trevor bumped into her back. Her brain wasn't able to process just what it was her eyes were seeing. A misshapen lump, two bodies in one, crawling and shambling across the hardwood floor of the attic. Nails and.... shit, something else, scraped across the floorboards, reverberating into Morgana's bones and raising every hair on her arms.
She stood there, completely and utterly agog, as Trevor stood behind her, radiating energy, ready to step in at a moment's notice.
Inhuman cries - shrieks, really - echoed in the still air. Hanks of blonde hair, and ice blue eyes looked up at her, somehow still intact in the misshapen hunk of human flesh. And in that moment, Morgana knew.
Bile rose in her throat as her hands began to shake. Trevor went completely still behind her, his killer instinct close to setting in.
Her parents were before her, and she could only guess that they were a "gift" from Ezra Strix. Something sent to unnerve and disturb her. He had succeeded.
The creature continued pulling itself across the floorboards, and the shrieking had developed a sort of stutter, as if breathing - or whatever the hell it was doing - was becoming belabored. Panic streaked through her, followed quickly by fear, agony, depression, desperation. She ran the gamut in the span of seconds. And then she held out her hand and concentrated her will, until electricity arced between her fingers. A family legacy she had been attempting to hone as of late.
The pale blue arcs of light jumped and thickened and coalesced as the scent of dark magic burned in the air, wafting from the shambling creature with her parents eyes.
Trevor rested a strong hand on her shoulder as she breathed through the agony of what she was looking at, and thought, really thought. She closed her fist, dissipated the electricity, and took a ragged breath, her shoulders heaving, as the creature continued scraping along the floor.
Where normally Trevor would have been up her ass to get moving out of danger’s path, he was letting her puzzle this one through herself, even as imminent danger crept ever-closer.
They were hexed, presumably by Ezra, who was intent on torturing her family and bringing the Wilshere line to its end. They weren’t her parents, not anymore, and they hadn’t been for a long time. She repeated that mantra over and over as she pulled magic around her, and focused it. Normally she could cast without etching runes in the air, but this time she wasn’t taking any chances.
She trusted Trevor to keep her safe as she took the time she needed, her hands moving through the air with the ease of somebody who had been immersed in rune magic since birth. By the time she was one, the misshapen hunk of flesh had reverted to the base form. The bodies of her parents. They looked as if they had just died hours ago. No decay or deterioration. They looked like if she just waited long enough, they would open their eyes and be her mom and dad again.
Morgana tried to steel herself against the emotion rocketing through her right now, but she couldn’t. Her entire body shook with terror and adrenaline and sadness loomed at the corners, threatening to sweep over her and pull her under the swell.
She sank to the floor, the hardwood digging into her knees as she stared at the prone bodies of her parents, arctic blue eyes glazed over with deep seated trauma and outright wariness.
There was Trevor again, his hand on her shoulder as he looked down at her with tender concern. There was some emotional roiling beneath his placid surface and she wasn’t sure what it was, maybe guilt, maybe resignation. She didn’t have the bandwidth to explore it.
“What do you need?”
“Please gather my siblings - and find Jill. It looks like we have a burial to plan.”