The Inside Diaries

Morgana

A college quadrangle, its surrounding silvery stones lined with emerald moss, their edges worn with age—as tropical brush, flora and fauna inveigled overhead windows, gently adhering, glomming onto this now-sultry clime.

On exchange.

One student, for another. And then some. Her feet moved despite her own wariness, silently noting her surroundings—beautiful, elegant, and altogether—

Unfamiliar.

Supposedly her chums were here—she'd passed a couple along the way. No classes shared, unfortunately. Why didn't she know the rules, comparing schedules, manipulating her timetable toward tertiary school friendship, this so-called camaraderie she craved?

Whatever the reason, they were spread apart—or she from them. At this point, what difference did it make? A computer lab materialized before her—a tiny chambered thing, half the size of a one-bedroom studio. In the corner of her eye, she spotted—she gave a start—her nemesis. And others who'd left her. Absconded, all.

Straight into the hands of the enemy—

MROOOooooooooow!

Eyes springing open, her arm brushed up against a certain feline's fluffy tail. Feed me, its eyes seemed to say, balefully so. Taking a handful of shaking breaths—in and out—out and in—she told herself—

It's just a dream. None of that exists. Not outside your head, anyways.

A mantra or two later, she shifted herself out of the fluffed twin-sized bed, careful to avoid hitting her head against the sloped ceilings and the faux ivy décor. Her home away from home.

For she was, at present, in the Azores.

Removing a can of cat food from her canvas bag (chicken-flavored), she popped its contents into a small dish, laying it upon the carpeted floor; the feline immediately made a beeline, devouring nourishment within several short minutes. Good kitty.

Exiting her bedroom, she proceeded into the adjoining bathroom, where she drew herself a bath; light filtered through brightly-painted shutters onto the tub and the potted plants surrounding it—a dark indigo-plum spider plant, a handful of palm varietals, an orchid, and what appeared to be an Asiatic paper parasol, pale blue and quite eclectic.

Once that was taken care of, she donned her bathrobe and headed toward the living room, a modern space that opened out into the kitchen; said culinary space appeared a veritable contradiction, its walls harkening back to Pompeiian architecture, juxtaposed with an artist's studio, for she spotted a high-mounted row of oil paintings, several feet above the seemingly traditional sink and countertop, not to mention several more potted palm plants and a roll-top tabled island center with two elevated stools. With some hesitation, she found herself rummaging in the cabinets, finding a cup. Filling it with sink water, she drank, having not realized till then just how thirsty she had been.

As for food...?

Opening the fridge, she spotted a small plate of what appeared to be deep crimson blood-oranges. Breakfast. Thanks Matias, she silently noted before tasting.

Once satiated, she recalled her mental to-do list. Visit the marketplace. Meet Morgana. Fill her in on...y'know. The marketplace, she was relieved to find, was not so very far from where she herself was staying; after dressing in climate-appropriate wear, she exited her endroit, heading straight there...

"Absolutely NOT—" The older woman vehemently shook her head, crimson curls flying about.

"But Morgana—"

"No ifs, ands, or buts. I promised I wouldn't get involved. Again."

"Look—" she paused. "Can you just meet me for tea? Or a coffee break? Or...whatever? I swear it won't take too long. Please?"

Morgana studied the lady and harrumphed. "Fine. Just this once."

And that was how Morgana ended up at the endroit, knocking twice in rapid succession upon the front door as the younger lady let her in. Between sips of tea and nibbles of coconut, the delicious scent of shortbread wafting in the oven, she turned to the auburn-haired woman. "Thanks for meeting with me, I really appreciate it—"

"What's this really about?"

Wow. Ok, she doesn't beat around the bush. "Um, so, there's this lady—she needs your help—"

Morgana frowned. "Why can't she ask her mom? Dad?"

She shook her head. "No parents. She's recently orphaned," as the older woman's brow furrowed, puzzled, and yes, somewhat intrigued.

"Ok...do tell?" And was that the faintest trace of a tear?

"She's a scientist. Beautiful inside and out. And she's virtually all alone, family-wise, except for Matias. But she needs help in various...life phases. She needs grandparents—"

"But I've never been a parent—"

"I realize that—"

"I'm irritatingly blunt—"

"Yes, Morgana, I know—"

"And I've never had the time—"

"Until now, you're retired, right?"

"What could I possibly help her with, that Matias can't?" Her sparkling green eyes fixed on her own, while laying her teacup onto its saucer. Black tea with oil of bergamot, no milk, no cream, no sugar—

"You're a magical obstetrician, right?"

Morgana sighed, equal parts bemused and exasperated. "The one and only. Not for want of trying, might I add."

"Well...she's magical herself. One of the most powerful, if not the world's powerful—"the younger lady paused. "But I'm sure you've already made up your mind. Anyways," she stacked the finished teacups atop their saucers, bringing them into the kitchen, "thanks for coming, I won't waste your time, clearly you're not interested—"

"Who said I'm not interested?"

The younger lady swiveled around, Morgana's eyes flashing a fascinating crimson-gold for a quarter of a second. "Wait...seriously?"

"Matias is the most indecisive, methodical man I've ever set eyes on. Have you ever seen him choose between paint cans? Pepper varietals? Coconut hybrids?" Morgana strode toward her. "Infuriating, I tell you. That woman—I'll—I'll take her under my wing—"

"When the time's right—"

"I'll not have Matias muck it up—"

"Whatever you say, Morgana, whatever you say..."