Out Cold
Shamefully, it takes a while for Morgan to figure out that she’s been cursed. She’s too focused on the battle, too focused on her own spells; when the monster hits her, she shrugs it off, and her detachment to her own physical state means that she did not realize immediately that anything was wrong.
They defeat the monster, of course. Their team is a well-oiled machine. Her spouse congratulates all of them, voice both impossibly loud and barely understandable. Morgan leans on her staff. Her body feels sluggish, all the sudden. Achilles slaps her on the back, and she finds that she barely feels it.
Mh.
She turns her attention inwards, to her magic circuits. Quickly enough, she locates the problem. Just as easily, she takes the spell apart, examines it flows, and concludes on its effect. Mh. This is inconvenient.
“Sir Kyrielight,” she calls out. She has to articulate carefully. Her mouth feels filled with cotton. “Would you be so kind as to carry me to the medical bay?”
Sir Kyrielight trots towards her. Her face looks blurry to Morgan, though she imagines the knight must look worried. She gets concerned about little things like that. “Of course! Were you hurt, Morgan?”
Morgan does not mean to nod. Her whole body starts tilting forwards though, so maybe that’s the impression she’s giving off. “I am going to pass out,” she warns helpfully.
Then her knees buckle under her, and everything fades to black.
The first time she wakes up, she’s in an impossibly bright room.
Morgan groans. She wants to protect her eyes, but her limbs are so heavy. She opts to curl tighter onto herself instead, squeezing her eyelids shut.
There are voices above her. Morgan couldn’t understand them if she tried- and she does not want to try. She’s so tired. She is so, so very tired.
Slowly, she drifts back asleep.
The second time she wakes up- if you can call brief bouts of the barest of awareness waking up- she is in a much comfier place. The sheets are soft below her, and her pillow is especially snuggle-worthy. She sighs in contentment. What a bliss. It’s cold, though. She could use a blanket.
She hears a voice. Singular. She can’t understand it, but it sounds much clearer than the hazy mess from before. It seems important. There’s something Morgan is forgetting. It was important.
It takes all her might, but she manages to pry her eyes open. Squinting to adjust the light, she peers up, at the body sitting next to her.
“Ha… ■■trot?”
The body startles. She rushes too Morgan, too fast for her tired eyes to register. A small hand nests inside of hers. It squeezes. It’s hard, but Morgan manages to squeeze back.
She says something. It’s all just sound. Morgan opens her mouth, and manages to reply: “Cold…”
The hand squeezes again, then leave. Morgan barely sees the shape moving out of her vision, and sleep claims her again.
The third time, she’s woken up by a shiver. She’s under heavy blankets this time, but the cold is still insidious in her bones.
There’s another figure with her. This time, Morgan manages to open her eyes wider, understand more of her surroundings. The person is a human, or at the very least humanoid. They’re sitting on the sheets, peering down at her. They have a face- Morgan can’t make out the details, but she knows it must be familiar. Just the sight of that blurry outline is enough to make her feel safe.
“■■■■■■■,” she calls out. The name rolls almost by itself off her tongue, a sound she herself cannot understand, like a forgotten memory that hasn’t quite been fully scrubbed.
The girl startles. She leans down over Morgan, just like (who?) She’s speaking as well, though Morgan still can’t understand. It’s soothing, however. She likes that voice. She likes that voice a lot.
The girl touches her- just a hand on her shoulder. It’s warm. It’s warm. Maybe it’s because Morgan’s latest memories have been an incomprehensible cloud where cold was the only physical information she could truly register, but she finds herself hypersensitive to that warmth. She wants that. She needs that.
It’s so, so hard to lift her arm off the sheet- and even harder, to close her fingers around the cloth of this girl’s shirt. But the cold is stronger than the constant drowsiness, and so Morgan manages to pull.
The girl squeaks, like a mouse, then falls down on Morgan. Morgan acts swiftly; the faster she gets this done, the faster she can go back to sleep. She clumsily maneuvers the girl on her side, then wraps herself over her back. She’s too tired to truly hold her close, but at least Morgan can let an arm and a leg fall over this girl’s body.
The girl speaks some more. Tries to move away. Why is she trying to move away? It’s cold. Everything is so profoundly tiring. Morgan groans to voice out her displeasure. She closes her eyes then, intending to fall back asleep- but the girl does the unspeakable, and lifts Morgan’s arm off her.
Now that just won’t do. It’s rude. And terrible. And Morgan needs that warmth. She gathers all her strength, that iron will that once made her queen, and she grumbles in the girl’s hair: “S’cold. Stay with me.”
Suddenly, the girl stops moving. Morgan’s arm falls back over her.
Morgan finds herself smiling. That’s better. “Good girl,” she whispers, in her last cognitive moments. And then, once more, sleep comes to claim her.
The fourth time, Morgan is woken up by a sharp pain in her shoulder. She growls, turning her head to chew out whoever dared to disturb her sleep- only to find herself face-first with BB.
“There we go! I knew a little debuff cleanse was all you needed.” She winks then, and Morgan has never wanted to squish a bug harder than at this moment. “So, how was your nap, sleeping beauty?”
Debuff…? Nap?
Ah. Right. Morgan remembers. “I was hit by a sleeping curse.”
“Correct! So some of your memory is worth putting stock into! Good to know!” Morgan is getting the feeling that she’s taking a jab at something very specific, but she can’t figure out what this might be. Though, considering the jab is at her memory, this might precisely be the joke.
Either way, she will entertain this no longer. “What do you want.”
“Aw, so mean. We’re coworkers, Winter Queen. Can’t I just cure you of your ailments because Senpai cares for you and I am a wonderful Kouhai?” Morgan hates the likes of her. She’s so close to the fairies Morgan abhorred so. But on the bright side, Morgan has a lot of experience dealing with her ilk.
“I thank you for this, then. Now, I will kindly ask you to leave.”
“Of course, of course! Wouldn’t want to disturb the two of you.” BB starts to head out, but predictably, stops right at the door. “By the way, how long are you going to feign being asleep?”
Morgan is about to reply that now that she’s cured, she very much intent on staying awake and making up for the lost time- when suddenly, it occurs to her that she is not alone in her bed.
Morgan looks down. From the corner of her eyes, she sees BB absconding, snickering to herself.
“Mash Kyrielight.”
The knights look up at her. Her face is bright head. Understandably so; Morgan’s limbs are still wrapped loose around her. They’ve been- cuddling, it appears. And considering Morgan is the big spoon in this situation, she thinks she can safely assume she was the one to initiate it.
“Apologies.” She says sincerely, prying herself away from the knight. “That was inappropriate of me.”
“It’s… it’s fine.” The knight replies, though she won’t meet Morgan’s eyes.“I didn’t mind.”
It’s a lie she would have caught even without fairy eyes, but no matter. Morgan will find a way to make it up to her. She’s never been one to stay indebted to anyone.
She sits up, then stretches. How long has she been affected by that curse? It feels like she hasn’t moved her body in days. Meaning- stiff and painful, mostly. Her old age is catching up to her.
“… Morgan,” Sir Kyrielight suddenly asks, rolling on her back. “Are you cold?”
What a strange question. “I am the Winter Queen. I know how to handle the cold.”
“I see…” She sits up as well.
Morgan moves to get off the bed then, actually join the world of the living again, but a hand grabs her sleeve first. “If you’re ever cold again… Seek me out. I will help. I don’t mind. Really.”
Morgan does not typically rely on others to solve her problems- historically, it has never been a good bet. Still, for a second, she thinks: this is the most trustworthy person I have ever known. If she says she will, then surely she will.
“That is much appreciated. Thank you, my knight.”
It’s only halfway through the cafeteria that Morgan remembers that Mash is not, and as far as she can recall, has never been her knight.
AmberGimlet: I've read this like 5 times now, actually. It is SO comfy.