𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxxv. morrow killian.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

▬▬▬▬▬

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀 𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐘, meadowed irises glazed upon his province. The sun's glow illuminates cuts and scars through a loose white button-down shirt, opened up wide to reveal his chest. He still wears those low clung trousers, as well as leather clad boots. The crudest markings on him are sheltered by his angelic black wings. Forever, his soul binds itself to the witches' curses, a spell impossible to unwind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The door latches behind Elowen as she enters into his private room. Since the morning, he's collected his carelessly tossed instruments and sheet music, placing them back where they belong. When she glances back at his restroom, the shattered mirror stares back at her, her image a distortion of broken shards. There's no sign of Thorn, although she knows the ancient man spoke with him. About what? She's uncertain.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A toe-curling growl rips through her skull as she takes another step towards him. Not once does he flinch or acknowledge her, but she feels the claws of his wolf grip her inner creature and psyche, pulling at the threads to lure her into his domain. She follows his tug until the sound in her head becomes reality, a coarse timbre rumble that slows the pace of her heart.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow spreads his blight-tinged palms on the stone railing. "Seven days," he mutters under a ragged breath, glancing over his shoulder towards her. She meets the glow of his firefly eyes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She steps onto the outer balcony, letting the breeze do the work to carry her voice. "Until what?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It starts with your hands and feet, then spreads up your arms and legs towards your heart and skull." Morrow lifts a hand to his vision, scanning the evil and charred flesh. "It's in my blood, and it'll keep spreading until it reaches my heart. That's what'll weaken me, but when it reaches my fucking brain..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A blight hand clenches the railing, his alpha's strength surfacing as the stone cracks within his hold. The images in his mind flash before her vision, mirages of the blight nymphs and fae in the woods, of his own were dying in delusion at the edges of his regime. The blight twists the ones he knows and loves, strangers and enemies alike, into the walking dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"In seven days, when it reaches my brain, you won't recognize the man that I'll become," he growls under a false breath. "It's why I told Thorn to sedate me before then. I refuse to let you see that part of me. It's uglier than what you already know."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The Morrow I know isn't ugly at all."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's because you don't know me," he mutters, his gaze trailing away from her to the valleys of Tabrien. "Do you know anything about who I am? What I've done? I dragged you into my life and kept you there without letting you get to know me at all. This is your chance. Run, and I won't chase after you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen approaches him, setting her palm atop his clenched fingers. The charred flesh loosens on the stone as her fingertips trace over his knuckles. "Do you want me to run from you?"