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Old Age

"MORGAN!" Mash rushes across the field as fast as she physically can. The witch stumbles under the blow, clearly taken by surprise. The skeleton is already raising its sword again, ready to strike once more-

Not on her watch. Mash tackles the offending monster, reaches out, and tears its skull off its body with her bare hands. She doesn't even spare it a second of attention, immediately turning towards the other woman. "Morgan! Are you alright?"

The witch staggers, peering down at herself. The blade has torn her dress at the flank, an ugly slice that should have cut her in half. "It seems like I was lucky," she responds blankly.

Which, coming from Morgan, means nothing. This woman's sense of pain has been dulled by centuries of horrors. She says it's nothing, but Mash has seen the strike, has seen the way the witch has recoiled. Though she sees no blood, the cut must be deep. So Mash reaches out to grasp at the fabric of Morgan's dress, bracing herself for the horrifying would beneath-

She does not see a wound.

She does not know what she sees, really.

"Morgan," she articulates slowly, "what is that?"

"My skin." Morgan replies, as if that explained anything. She takes hold of her dress and yanks the fabric away from Mash's fingers. "I understand your worry, but I would rather if you did not try to undress me in the future, Sir Kyrielight. I assure you I can take care of myself."

In any other circumstance, it would hurt, to be treated like a stranger by the woman she loved so. However, Mash's confusion is so great that it tramples anything else. "I meant the brown... thing?"

Under Morgan's dress, well hidden by the fabric

there was

a thick

orange

crust.

It was unlike anything Mash has ever seen. It didn't even look organic. If anything, it was more reminiscent of a rock, or-

rust.

Morgan's face, unperceptibly, softens. "Ah. That would be old age, Sir Kyrielight."

She's rusting. Morgan, the Winter Queen, Tonelico- is rusting.

It's hard to remember sometimes, how old Morgan is. Mash is aware of that fact more than most, but even then- as far as she knows, she saw Tonelico one day, and Morgan the next. She didn't see the centuries in between. She didn't see the millennia of wander and stasis and trials and errors. She knew, rationally, that Morgan was older than most people in Chaldea, but- this. This is what makes her truly realize it.

Morgan is old. Morgan is so, so profoundly old. Tonelico- aged way past what she was supposed to. And it should be a good thing, that Tonelico lived, it should be a good thing that her friend did not get executed, but at the same time all Mash can think is: she couldn't let go of her duties and rest even in the face of death.

People die when they are killed. This is a stupid sentence, she knows, but it's a true one; one can only die if they are a person. And Morgan, Morgan and her rusted skin, Morgan and her ice face- Morgan has not allowed herself to be a person in a very, very long time.

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