The Arcana - Muriel Fanfics!

10.

*this one doesn't have a title. I've been having trouble sleeping lately, either a few blank, dreamless hours or not at all. With everything going on, emotions are intense. patience is thin. But, the stars are still shining. The world is still turning, if a little quieter. So, this chapter is a product of that strained, sleepless serenity. In other news, definitely check out the first chapter of my spankin' new Julian series! this might be the last of Muriel's series (officially this time, sad), but that just means all new adventures with the Doctor, and a new MC to go with. Anywho, I hope you enjoy the end of Val and Muriel's journey. Stay safe, stay healthy, and love you all. <3 (ps. I wrote the second part with- https://youtu.be/sGldCV8oz9A  -playing on repeat. Highly recommend, the vibes are immaculate) 

She sits cross legged under the Whispering Tree.

At least, that's what she and Fisk had named it. Her little mouse's mismatched eyes are much sharper and shrewder than any mouse had a right to be; an eerie gaze of gold and quicksilver. Mor waits patiently, trying her hardest not to fidget. 

"...focus..." the tree whispers, a tendril of blue flowers brushing the girl's shoulder. Mor grits her teeth, breathing evenly. She focuses on the base of the tree. She imagines the roots, twisting and spreading under her, all around her. She imagines her heart's roots, deep within her. 

The breeze picks up, and the forget-me-nots slide gently over her back. 

At her touch, the tips of the leaves begin to glow. Mor stares in wonder. Her heart is thudding strong and wildly in her chest. The glow spreads, flowing upwards from leaf to leaf, petal to petal. Fisk shivers in Mor's lap, the blue light reflected in his eerie eyes. 

Morga stands, taking careful steps back as the entire tree fills with pearly blue light. The stones around her seem to take up the call, the carvings of bears and birds ebbing with soft luminescence. 

"...watch...and learn...your heart will know..." the tree breathes. Mor opens her mouth, but freezes. Voices float on the breeze. They sound far away, tinged with a reverberation that sends a chilly finger down Mor's spine. 

Then, a translucent blue shape, glowing with ethereal light, darts out of the rocks. Mor clutches Fisk to her chest, the pair watching with wide eyes. Whoever it is doesn't seem to notice her. Another, much larger figure trundles after the first, leaving swirling blue in their wake. Mor tilts her head, frowning. The larger figure looks familiar, but doesn't cast her a second thought. 

Mor follows their movements until they slow, the blue shapes gathered behind a third figure she hadn't noticed before. This one is shorter, stouter. Morga's gaze slides back to the largest figure, racking her brains for how she might have known it. It runs a hand through its translucent braids, as if frustrated. Almost exactly what her father did whenever something frustrated him. A pang of realisation, sharp and strong, hits Mor. 

"Papa," she says quietly. He doesn't turn, doesn't hear her. 

"...he cannot see you, child..." the tree whispers. "...he is only a memory..."

Slightly crestfallen, Morga goes silent, watching the figures of blue light. If that's Papa, she thinks to herself, then the woman beside him has to be Mama. Sure enough, the wiry frame and stance were the same, except a curtain of long, glowing hair tumbled about her shoulders. 

Morga didn't recognise the third, shorter figure, only that she was an older woman. All three of them stood, facing...facing who? Fisk lets out a small squeak. 

Slowly, a fourth and final figure coalesces out of thin air. This one is a woman too. Tall, lean, fearsome. She clutches a spear in one hand, and her eyes burn blue with fierce cunning. Her thin mouth is moving, speaking to her parents and the older woman, but Morga can't hear. Their voices are barely more than murmurs on the wind.