The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Starlight and Bloodstains

Another day wasted. There were no social events to give the opportunity of drawing out the killers, in wake of the latest tragedies. My illness has subsided some, with rest, but I still find myself shorter of breath than usual and suffering from headaches. I think it must be stress-induced.

Mr. Santiago has yet to wake, as well, so I spent most of the day with Javier at the hospital. I think I have come to resent the place.

    Worst of all, I spent the day seperated from Morgan, as she was otherwise occupied. Not at work or investigating, of course, but instead "hunting" the people she believes are following her. She did return to her apartment eventually, if only for the sake of having a safe place to transform. I suppose that could be considered progress. Her anger with me has subsided, for the most part, and she intercepts my incessant questions about her condition with patient amusement.

    "Does it... hurt?" I ask, stupidly, as she beckons for me to shut the door of her bedroom and let her be.

    Morgan Ivers just smiles, sadly, in response.

After the process is done, she paws at the door for me to open it and let her out. Her manner is very solemn and almost authoritarian, as if she is leaving to patrol the area for possible assailants once more. Or... perhaps, to hunt. I don't know how to feel about the matter. Javier's vegetarianism may be infectious, but I am a practical woman. Nobles can often be excessively cruel to animals for very little reason, taking their lives on a whim.

I suppose if the red wolf needs to do what it needs to do, I am compelled to accept that. It's certainly more natural, more just than what we do. Morgan has also given me the impression that she remains mostly "herself" regardless of the form that she takes on, so I doubt she would do anything that she wouldn't usually.

I open doors for her again, upon her return. I think she does things quite differently when I am not around, but I don't ask. Morgan couldn't answer either way.

I do follow her into her bedroom, however, and sit on the ground beside her as she tries to go to bed.

"I'm going to get you a mattress, after this." I tell her sharply. "This is just demeaning! I wouldn't treat any person... or, Gods, even any livestock living at my estate, so poorly."

I am referring to the fact that her bedroom has no furniture in it... not a frame for a bed, or even a mattress. It's just... a pile of old blankets, on the ground. She makes a low noise in her throat. A growl, but not one meant to be a threat so much as a way of voicing disgust. She then spins around in circles before getting into bed, displacing me quite severely to the edge of the nest of blankets.

     I am not surprised. It's a miracle that she can fit inside the apartment, with how low the ceilings are.

"You know, I'm sorry." I tell her, albeit with a tone uncannily like that of an angry badger stuck in a trap.

The wolf huffs and looks at me with an almost perfect expression of innocent stupidity, like she can't tell what I'm saying. I scowl.

"I know you're still the same person, when you're a wolf. It's not like in stories— otherwise you wouldn't be capable of communicating and thinking things out like a human." I laugh. "Like when you walked me home, the last full moon."

The wolf doesn't react. It paws slightly at my shoulder.

"Are you really going to pretend not to understand, or not to know me, just to get away with a brief truce in our argument? You could just ask for a real one."

The wolf narrows its eyes at me and growls, again. I can practically hear Morgan's complaint— Well, you could be the one to ask for the truce, instead.