In Calore Veritas

If there is one way to describe Morgan as succinctly as possible, it would be as such: Morgan is, at heart, a creature of rules. She has a very strict internal code ruling how she interacts with the world and its people; her internal feelings never matter in her actual actions. If you lend her a hand, she will pay back her debt, even if she finds you loathsome. If you rise against her ideal, she will destroy you, even if you are a friend. It’s the best way she had found to be as impartial a ruler as she could. While that attitude eventually led her to her death, she still sticks to it now. 

Which is really a long way to say that Morgan, as a creature of rules, is particularly sensitive to changes in the script.

“Habetrot, where is your hat?”

The little fairy reaches up to touch the top of her head. It’s a strange sight, to see the root of her hair. Morgan can’t recall the last time she’s seen Totrot head to battle without it (though this does come with the obvious disclaimer that, well, two thousand years is quite a long time, and there are a lot of things Morgan does not remember from back then. And besides, this Habetrot is not her Totrot.) “Ah, I gave it to Mash earlier.”

“To Sir Kyrielight?” Now that she mentions it, Morgan doesn’t recall seeing the knight around today. They’re rarely paired together in training, so Morgan didn’t pick that up as fast as she did Habetrot’s hat.

Habetrot nods. “It’s her time of the year, you understand.”

Aaah, right. That’s a concept that had not existed in Fairy Britain, but Morgan has studied it up, yes. So Sir Kyrielight is in heat right now. That means she should be back in a week or so. That’s good. Morgan likes seeing her around.

“You should visit her too!” Habetrot elbows Morgan’s knee with a grin. “Maybe she’ll ask for a piece of your clothes too!”

Morgan allows herself to exhale slightly louder through her nose in the closest expression of a laugh she can. “I highly doubt she holds me in such high regards.” 

Based on what Morgan has read, it is common for omegas to include items of people close to them in their nest. It’s a comfort thing; the smell makes them feel safe. While Morgan does feel a certain (if inexplicable) fondness for the knight, she doubts it’s reciprocated at all, yet alone to the extent that Morgan might be associated with comfort in her mind. Morgan is, after all, a witch; one who has tried to kill Sir Kyrielight, even. The knight has been nothing but pleasant to her until now, but politeness does not equal closeness.

Still, Morgan figures it costs nothing to visit the knight, if only as basic courtesy. And that’s why she finds herself standing in front of Mash’s room, knocking at the door.

“Sir Kyrielight? May I come in?”

A muffled grunt answers her. She’ll take that as a yes.

The first thing Morgan notices when she steps in is how thick the air feels. It’s like the air prior to a thunderstorm. Briefly, she wonders- if she could smell like humans do, what would it be like? To walk into a space and have it painted full of a single person?

“Sir Kyrielight?”

There is an indescribable bundle of fabric on the bed, blankets and pillows and various clothes set together. Morgan catches a glimpse of Habetrot’s hate peeking out, as well as a shirt she’s certain belongs to the Master. So this is what a human nest looks like.

The bundle shifts, and a flushed head pokes out. “Morgan?”

“Yes.” Morgan strides forward to set a hand on Mash’s cheek. Her skin feels like it’s burning up. “I have come to check on you. How are you feeling?”

The girl leans against Morgan’s palm. “Horny. And sleepy.”

That checks out. As Morgan recalls, the primary symptoms of being in heat include arousal, a lack of social filters, and a general sense of lethargy. Historically, alphas used to go in rut in order to be able to impress potential mates and/or provide for their current ones, while omegas used to go in heat as a way to conserve energy and find a safe place to rise and protect their young. The more you know.

Mash reaches up to gently cradle Morgan’s hand against her head. She turns her face to the side and presses her nose against Morgan’s wrist, inhaling deeply. What must Morgan smell like to her, she wonders? How do fairies feel to humans? Morgan would be lying if she said she weren’t curious.

“Do you need me to bring you anything? Food? Water?”

The knight shakes her head, closing her eyes. She does not ask for an article of clothing or anything similar, which was to be expected. Morgan is not a threat to Sir Kyrielight’s living space, but she is not necessarily welcome either. That is honestly better than her average relationship, so she doesn’t take it personally.

“You seem tired.” She says softly. “I will leave you to rest. Take care, Sir Kyrielight.” She pulls her hand away, and-

The knight latches onto her arm like a starved animal on food. “DON’T!”

Her voice is tainted in panic. While just a second ago she’d looked right about to fall asleep, she’s now looking at Morgan with wide eyes, holding onto her with both hands. “Morgan. Morgan. Don’t leave me. Please. Don’t leave me again. Don’t leave me again!”

Alarm bells ring through her head. This is not normal behavior, even taking the heat into account. She’s distressed. Why? “Mash, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t leave me.” The girl repeats. There are tears in the corner of her eyes now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me again, please, I’m begging you, Tonelico! ”

Tonelico.

A single word, and Morgan forgets to breathe.

Tonelico. Tonelico. Tonelico. It has been- millenia since the last time anyone has referred to her as such. Tonelico. Tonelico. Tonelico. A name she had buried with the Fairy calendar.

How can this girl know that name? (And then, inexplicably, another thought: how could she not? )

“You…” Tonelico. Tonelico. Tonelico. One word that seems to ripple under Morgan’s skin. Something echoes in her soul. The sensation of being on the verge of an epiphany, like a word on the tip of the tongue, like waiting for the inevitable feeling of oh, I already knew this.

“Morgan,” Mash’s fingers are trembling. With all her strength, she pulls Morgan’s hand forward, laying it against her collarbone. “Can’t you see? Can’t you smell? I want you. I need you. I need you. Touch me. Bite me. Carve yourself into me. Please. Don’t leave me. ”

“No.”

Morgan’s answer, given without a second thought, is curt. The effect is instantaneous: Mash’s mouth closes, the tears fall down her cheeks- and she lets go of Morgan’s hand. “Oh.”

“You are not capable of informed consent right now.” Morgan explains herself. Ignoring- everything else (and Morgan is very good at that, compartmentalizing,) she isn’t strictly opposed to having sexual intercourse with a- coworker ( more than a coworker, more than a coworker, can’t you hear? That echo? Can’t you hear? Can’t you hear?) to help them alleviate stress or pain. However, that is something that should be discussed and agreed upon when both parties have a clear head, something Mash- Sir Kyrielight is very obviously lacking right now.

“ However, ” Morgan takes her hand back, then lightly pokes at the nest. “I can keep you company, if you’ll have me. I have been meaning to catch up on some reading, might as well do it here.”

Mash immediately fumbles to part the mess of blankets open, looking at Morgan with wide, hopeful eyes.

Human nests, Morgan learns, are really soft, and really warm. Bit too warm for her tastes actually, but she can deal. The heat isn’t helped by Mash pulling Morgan’s arms around her waist before snuggling her chest. At least this seems enough to satisfy the knight; despite how agitated she was earlier, she quickly falls asleep once Morgan properly holds her. It seems like Morgan won’t be able to leave for a while.

Tonelico. The name still echoes under her skin. Tonelico. A name no one, no one should be able to recall, be it in Britain or in Chaldea. Tonelico. Tonelico. Tonelico.

That’s fine. Morgan can stay here until Mash’s heat subsides. She has a riddle on her hands to take care of until then. And let it be known that Morgan is really good at riddles.