Inert upon her bed, Morgan observed the ceiling with a blank expression and lackluster eyes. Today marked one of those days when her mood failed to reach its best. She typically felt this way during days like these, when her duties as princess of the Valor Clan proved less burdensome. Specifically, today found herself within one of those strange situations where she possessed no short-term responsibilities.
But it was in these moments of tranquility and solitude that her mind wandered without any clear direction.
'Should I do something? Well, if so, something like what? Not to mention the damn paperwork... that thing is disgusting. For every sheet I sign, two appear... So then, do I simply rot here waiting for something to happen? Damn, being relaxed in this damned place is terrible. How is it that no one has taken care of entertainment here yet?'
An irritated sigh escaped her. Seeking something new to observe, she turned onto her side, facing the wall.
'How long has it been since I've read something? I don't have time for that type of thing. I simply cannot sit down to read peacefully, nor could I do so if there's noise... I believe The Brothers Karamazov was the last thing I recall being forced to read for the Culture Preservation Plan in my education... I truly miss reading webtoons. I left so many stories unfinished after my first nightmare... But even if I journey to the Waking World and use a phone to search for anything, these gloves won't allow me to swipe the screen either.'
The spectrum of options regarding what to do diminished increasingly, reaching the point where only unconscious fantasizing remained, recalling past preferences and filling herself with what-if questions.
'I wonder how Lloyd ended up against the King of the Underworld. Was that his name? I never managed to finish reading the last season. And what became of...?'
Amid the boredom and procrastination of her less urgent duties, at some point her thoughts fell silent for several seconds. That occurred when her hand traveled to remove the hair covering her face. Her sight was fixed upon her hands, or more precisely, upon her gloves.
She examined them intently before sitting up, observing her surroundings. Within the room resided several unremarkable pieces of furniture; no decoration or anything eye-catching made the space pleasant to view or bore any trace of personality. The furniture was enchanted to be flaw-proof, rendering it completely safe to remove her gloves without breaking the vast majority of items. But should she begin running barefoot, the floor would shatter, sending her crashing through everything until some surface finally restrained her. Many times throughout her life, she had wondered whether she would traverse the world and emerge on the other side should such an event occur.
Her gaze held admiration for the black leather gloves. These weren't the ones she typically utilized during daily life; she generally employed reinforced ones as part of her armor. But during moments like this, she selected a more mundane and comfortable pair.
Slowly, she pulled at the gloves, removing them and leaving them beside the bed. A curious examination began of her bare hands. She seldom removed them except during special situations where her flaw served more as a weapon. However, this moment stood far from any danger.
Detailed scrutiny followed. Despite being merely a pair of hands, they remained beautiful in their own manner, delicate in appearance though inevitably rough to the touch.
The gentle movement of static air registered against her skin, as if she had never previously paused to appreciate that sensation. Her hands felt lightweight after no longer sensing the usual slight weight of her gloves.
Her hand traveled toward the mattress where she lay, carefully caressing the thin sheet as though it might tear at her touch. But that didn't happen. After imprinting the softness of the enchanted silk upon her mind, a childlike yet profound curiosity filled her. The transition from profound boredom to possessing a great need to touch everything was sudden.
Hurriedly sitting upright, her eyes scanned for her next target. Approach was made toward the nightstand beside the bed, her hands passing over its surface. The wood possessed both smooth sections from the varnish layer and rough areas in the lower portions of the furniture. A soft chuckle escaped, almost a snort. Though subtle, it represented a genuine laugh she hadn't released for a long time. The corners of her lips curved slightly. Like her quiet laughter, the soft smile conveyed genuine amusement. After a considerable duration, she had felt distracted, entertained, and strangely happy due to the insignificant yet mundane sensation of touch.
Within the world—two worlds, actually—touching something and feeling it constituted a luxury that nobody except Morgan ever contemplated.
Not long afterward, she had already touched and caressed all the enchanted furniture within her room, which wasn't numerous. Considerable happiness filled her; should anyone observe her smiling as innocently as now, they might mistake her for another person.
Morgan barely recalled what the sensations of certain objects or textures felt like, and soon began pondering when she had last touched someone.
'Might it have been approximately nine years now, perhaps? Discounting the instances where I touched to harm, I believe I truly have no idea.'
Her eyes journeyed back to her hands. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her pulse abruptly accelerated, concentrating upon what she was about to attempt.
She brought her hands toward one another, leaving them merely a few centimeters from contact. A large gulp of air was taken as palms and fingers pressed together. Instantly, she managed to perceive the rough texture, as if passing her finger along the side opposite a knife's edge.
Motionless, she remained absorbed within the sensation of skin's touch. Being touched, even by herself, prompted deep breathing that ignored everything else.
Carefully, she slowly moved her hands with the objective of interlacing her fingers. Gentle sliding occurred, feeling the rough texture of her skin rubbing against itself. Ignoring the slight pain, continued pressure was applied, but just before complete engagement, a sharp sting announced pain. Moisture between her fingers also registered. Withdrawal of both hands preceded examination of her injured finger skin while blood dripped from the wounds.
With that, all of Morgan's entertainment and joy instantly vanished.
'What did I expect would happen? That magically, suddenly, I could touch something?'
A soft laugh emerged, but, unlike before, that laughter escaped with repressed melancholy and pain.
Morgan's mind, previously calm for having been so for several minutes, transformed into chaos.
Another glance toward the ceiling revealed an expression even more discouraged than before, as if strength was lacking. Her lips parted.
"Well, at least I now remember what skin feels like... but I believe it was a bad idea after all. Now I truly want to be touched."
With each spoken word, her voice cracked increasingly. Pain was felt, considerable pain, but its origin remained unrecognized. It seemed her soul was passing through a shredder, with the remaining debris constituting her being. A wish formed for the room to become cold and inexplicably larger, for her to be merely a cockroach within an empty space.
A derisive laugh escaped as she lay miserably upon the bed.
'I... don't even have friends or people who appreciate me. Those surrounding me regard me with fear; the respect they hold stems from my position... Everything differs so greatly with her. Father no longer even looks at me, only at her...'
As her eyes began clouding, she shut them tightly, clenching her teeth to repress the tremor in her lip.
'But it's fine. I deserve it. After all, I'm simply just a miserable, horrible failure. Nobody could desire someone like me, even if compelled. I'm not even pleasant, I merely obstruct...'
Self-embrace occurred, staining her clothing with bloody hands. Fetal position was assumed while mental self-flagellation continued.
'I feel sick.'
Never would she accept it, but in that moment, she begged and fervently wished for someone to console her.
Previously, she had her father's favor as consolation, but after Nephis's arrival, everything crumbled for her. Now she didn't even enter her father's vision as relevant.
For several years, until today, she had dreamed of possessing a family, a secure place to shelter during moments like these. But the stabbing pain she had provoked herself with her flaw served as a clear reminder that her fantasy wouldn't be fulfilled.
"I'm disgusting."
Having spoken this, tears fell from Morgan's face in torrents, but no sob was released. Silent, expressionless weeping occurred, wallowing in her misery.
Minutes or hours flew by for her in that position. She couldn't specify how much time had passed. Her gaze remained lost throughout that duration, staring at nothing specific. She simply dedicated herself to existing. Somehow, she found comfort in being this way.
At the window, concealed by a long, dense curtain, sunlight entered through an uncovered corner. The sun remained firm with at least several more hours of light.
Morgan's vision fixed upon this sunbeam. Contemplation of going out for air occurred, but she lacked the mood to endure all the stares she would receive. Neither did she want the responsibility of being the Sword King's daughter. She no longer wished to continue participating in this invisible competition with her adoptive sister.
'Broken'. The word resonated internally with the coldness of a final verdict. Without support, without a single soft place in the world to rest. Incapable of giving without injuring, of receiving without feeling unworthy. Loneliness wasn't companionship; it was her condemnation. A whisper, so weak it barely moved the air, escaped her lips, emerging from the deepest part of her wounded being: "I wish I wasn't me."
She nearly lost herself again in her pain and ignored the sunbeam, but an idea ignited within her heart like a spark.
'Can I be another person?'
She didn't contemplate changing herself; that seemed impossible in her condition. She had desired to be another person for some time, or at least something else; whatever, truly. There were occasions when she couldn't even tolerate herself. Solitude with herself and her thoughts proved fatal, and what had just transpired demonstrated this.
With difficulty, she sat up again, settling upon the bed. Lifting her gaze, she contemplated her runes with curiosity. The instant she confirmed what she wished to see, a glimmer of brightness returned to her eyes, as if beholding the answer to all her problems. Swallowing occurred before she shook her head.
"Truly? What do I think about sometimes?" Uttering this, she averted her gaze from the runes with the intention of lying down again.
But she didn't. Instead, another look at the runes followed, contemplating them with a complicated expression. Fixed observation continued, still and hesitant, for extended minutes.
Rising from the bed occurred, still lacked self-assurance.
X X X
Now she found herself walking through Bastion's streets. But, unlike previous occasions, she passed relatively unnoticed. The occasional discreet glance was cast her way, but nothing compared to the intensity and quantity of stares she typically received before.
Insecurity was felt from not wearing her usual attire or armor. Instead, mundane garments were worn: a white shirt paired with gray trousers, entirely unremarkable, though both were enchanted. To suppress her presence, a special Memory was utilized—a black coat equally forgettable as the clothing ensemble employed.
Not much additional clothing existed within her closet; she wasn't the type of girl who collected expensive garments. Rather, she couldn't. While she could purchase tons of clothing, she could only wear those items enchanted against her flaw, and she also didn't want to waste her blacksmith's time merely for simple clothes.
The most notable aspect of her appearance was her hair, now brown, alongside her blue eyes, completely opposite to vermilion. Gratitude was felt for possessing this entire Memory set. She would have altered her facial appearance somewhat, but it wasn't possible for her.
Now, Morgan found herself standing mid-street, looking in two different directions, meditating upon which route to take.
Although she had spent much of her life in Bastion, she had never been one for strolling about and appreciating the view. Also, previously, little had existed to see; only following the Antarctic refugees' arrival had the city truly come to life.
"I suppose right this time."
Morgan visited places she had never previously passed. Shops were passed, though nothing was purchased, and parks and plazas were traversed. None reached the level of the Waking World's constructions or equipment, but they still possessed their own charm.
More important than visiting tourist locations, Morgan merely desired to go out to avoid being herself, and she was succeeding. Contrasting with her previous appearance, she seemed relaxed and even happy, unlike her usual intimidating and dark expression as Morgan of Valor. But now she wasn't that person.
Soon, the sun began setting. She ended up seated upon a bench near a large lake. Hours of walking had occurred without attention to time. Unnoticed by her, a soft yet beautiful smile adorned her face. This outing had made her feel excellent; at that moment, she wasn't the Valor Clan's heiress. Now she was merely a girl taking a lakeside stroll.
A satisfied snort preceded leaning back upon the wooden bench, admiring the sun's final moments upon the horizon.
'This has proven rewarding somehow. When will I manage to do this again?'
Already anxious to repeat this small escape, her eyes fixed upon the crystalline water with orange touches from the sun.
A sudden need to approach the lake was felt. No profound explanation existed behind it; she simply wished to draw nearer.
Rising from the bench, walking commenced, enjoying the gentle breeze. A stop occurred right at the lake's edge.
Admiration was directed at the beauty before her. Never before had she observed her surroundings in that manner. Where she stepped, a small rock came loose and struck the water, provoking ripples in response.
Reflexively, her gaze turned toward where the stone fell, directly beneath her feet. Within the rippling water, her reflection became noticeable. Several blinks occurred before her calm expression vanished and her eyes opened wide.
"Shit."
Rapid departure from the crystalline lake was followed by a hand covering her mouth. Her stomach threatened to empty itself right there, sending waves of pain to her stomach's pit as she repressed the vomiting urge with all her strength.
Several breaths were required to combat the need to expel everything, but victory was achieved. With profound breaths, she collapsed upon the bench again. Her vision was blurring, and sickness was felt .
Trembling hands clenched against her legs. Tears accumulated in her eyes' corners, threatening release right there.
Familiarity with these reaction types existed; she had suffered such attacks shortly before facing her third nightmare. Reflections were unbearable, but contrary to her initial belief, this wasn't due to some trauma from or rejection toward her brother. Actually, discovery over time revealed she couldn't tolerate seeing herself. Even for a brief moment, observing her reflection provoked disgust and rejection.
A long, painful sigh was released, discarding any sorrow, burying it within her wounded heart. Fortunately, nobody was nearby to have witnessed her collapse. Moisture was wiped from her eyes before standing. The day had concluded; moonlight now reflected upon the lake.
With her mood destroyed, turning around to depart was interrupted by a peculiar structure capturing her attention. Inherent attraction was felt toward the peculiar sight.
"Is that an echo?" murmured, confusion coloring the word.
After hesitation, the final decision led toward what appeared to be a coffee shop. Standing before a window, emptiness was observed. Normally, nobody would enter an empty establishment, especially with a "Closed" sign upon the door.
But today, Morgan had awakened lacking common sense. Prepared to confront anything to satisfy her curiosity, the door was pushed, ringing the bell.
Upon entering, the first observation was chairs upon tables and, upon the floor, a wooden broom broken into three pieces. Following her gaze revealed a man with long black hair tied in a ponytail, his back turned. Expectant observation of the man's figure followed.
When the man finally turned around, mutual silent admiration occurred. The man was handsome, excessively handsome. Morgan hadn't anticipated encountering a face of that caliber in this situation, but having observed hundreds of beautiful men throughout her life, no effect was felt. Still, this man stood out.
Amid the silence, Morgan regained a shred of reasoning and realized the strange situation for the handsome man: she had shamelessly entered the closed establishment and was staring fixedly, examining him. Urgently, anything was formulated to alleviate the atmosphere.
"Excuse me, Miss-."
"Ah, sorry, I-"
Blinking occurred upon interruption, just as she had interrupted the boy before her. For Morgan, the expression the boy wore during the exchange provoked a soft laugh. It seemed a tender attempt to appear cordial and professional, failing at the slightest turbulence.
After ceasing laughter, she spoke first:
"Sorry, excuse my manners. I'm Mor..." Her introduction cut off as her voice failed, realizing she had nearly introduced herself as herself.
'Oh damn, why didn't I consider inventing a name beforehand? I already revealed three letters of my real name. Think of something, damn it.'
The ruin of the newly created alter ego wasn't the intention. At that moment, realization dawned regarding how impulsive and unprepared her actions were. Not even a name or pseudonym was possessed.
"Moriga?" Unconscious head tilting occurred, while her mind schemed any name form. "Moira! I'm Moira. It's a pleasure."
A hand was placed upon her chest, employing her cordial smile trained over years before a mirror, when self-observation remained possible.
The intense gaze received couldn't be ignored. It wasn't the intrusive type that irritated her, but he continued analyzing her. Near coughing revealed her discomfort, but before the occurrence, the man spoke.
"I am Master Sunless. A pleasure to meet you. Tell me, what brings you here?"
Notice was taken that, within the clumsy formal mask he wore, palpable nervousness traces existed, but a decision was made to ignore them for now.
Without a prepared response beforehand, truth manipulation was played, something learned, for better or worse, throughout her life.
"Oh, I was passing through here and noticed I had never seen this place. I don't reside in this Bastion part, so I don't pass through here frequently, so curiosity struck me. Are you still serving?"
"No, actually, I'm going to close. But don't worry, normally I would have to request your departure, but today I wish to make an exception for you! What shall I bring you?"
Morgan observed him carefully before responding. "Are you certain? I don't wish to bother you, Master Sunless. Actually... my entry was rude initially. I apologize for that."
For Sunny, the insecure and repentant tone Morgan employed provoked unconscious head tilting. The last interaction with Morgan hadn't revealed her as precisely the kindest or most considerate. Neither was she evil, actually.
'But doesn't she sound... excessively genuine?' Confusion colored his thoughts.
Head shaking followed. "I'm certain, and I insist. Please enter, if you so desire. I would love for you to leave this place content."
Morgan's smile widened. "I accept. I appreciate your kindness. But I want you to know that should anything displease me, I'll state it!"