𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxxviii. tomorrow.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏. Elowen springs from the sheets, scanning the room for the culprit of the sound. It's hardly morning hour, the sun just kissing the rim of the horizon, casting looming shadows over the bedroom's furniture. The minimal light halos the silhouette of a winged man tearing with claws through dressers and cabinets, slinging possessions to the side.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow?" she drawls, her voice tired.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's stark naked right now. Every muscle in his blight-stricken body pulls at him like a puppet on a string, hunching him so he appears incredibly unhinged. He heaves with every breath he takes, wrathful growls rasping from his lungs. His charcoal hair remains wild, pulled and pried at in every direction. Most of his form remains hidden behind his shadowed wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He ignores her and continues to dismantle his room.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow?" Something isn't right with him. The past few days he's been tripping and falling over his own feet, but now, he moves across the room with ease. "Come back to bed. It's too early to be up like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His attention snaps over to her, and it's then, her world crumbles to ash. He no longer runs on energy, but pure adrenaline fueled by the forbidden disease. Morrow's once meadowed hues become consumed in blight-sludge, transforming them into a deep nightmarish black. Although his face still remains tanned, black veins like tendrils reach for his vision and skull.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He warned her that this would come. The blight doesn't just kill. That would be too simple. Before death, the blight will alter him into someone she doesn't recognize, a monster she won't ever want to know. She just hopes that perhaps this same version of Morrow understands the woman before him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where is it?" he hisses in a voice that sounds far from his own. It's harsh, raspy, cut from the edges of his lowest tones.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't know what you mean."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where is it?" he grits, taking a step towards her as wolfish claws extend.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her heart pounds against her ribs as she skimpers off the bedsheets. Morrow only circles her. "You're starting to frighten me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"WHERE IS IT?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He leaps towards her, an animalistic pounce to weigh her under his grip, but she manages to escape his claws as she dashes behind his grand piano. Those blackened blight eyes follow her as if she were a weak little bird, and perhaps, she always was. A disapproving growl slices through the silence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," she gasps, keeping her eyes on him. "It's me. It's Elowen. Let me help y—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He targets her again, leaping atop the grand. Keys smash beneath his claws, a song of broken chords that opposites the song he played for her. He loves his instruments and his piano, his mother's grand, and yet, the blight doesn't give a damn for what Morrow holds in his heart. The disease is only meant to destroy him, to obliterate everything he once had and give him nothing in return. With one look at him, she knows the Morrow she's entwined to isn't the same as the one that prowls before her.