More Phoenix fic
I meant to have a proper beta for this one, when in truth it's "Perspectives" I should have held out for a beta on. I wrote this almost a month ago, and I'm still happy with most every detail of it. ("Perspectives," on the other hand, I'm already ruing, and may rewrite and repost.)
But the real reason I'm posting it now, is because redd_white's execution only whetted my appetite.
Thank you to tricklethestars for discussing transitions with me, for transitions are my weak point.
(And apologies to people who aren't used to seeing me post more than once a month. This will not become a trend.)
"Bridges Burned"
It was a perfect plan, blessed by the gods themselves. The very day that Morgan Fey was to rise at last above the petty mortal realm, her last, petty wish was fulfilled.
The main family of the Kurain Tradition was no more. The Master, as well as her heir, was dead, leaving Morgan's own child the heir apparent.
The men guarding Morgan Fey in her final hours could never understand. The name of Fey in the article about an acolyte missing, presumed dead, was a tragedy, and an occasion to put a twenty-four hour watch on Morgan, to protect her from herself on her last day on earth. Her daughter, tied up in the investigation, would not be visiting her mother before the execution. A tragedy, to those who could not understand that a Fey would never sever all ties to the mortal world, so long as the eternal spirit remained.
Nine o'clock that evening was the appointed hour, and at seven she was offered a chaplain woefully ignorant of the Kurain denomination of Buddhism. Morgan Fey dismissed him with the assurance that she was at peace.
At eight o'clock she had one last cup of bitter green tea-- lovely thick matcha mixed, for once, by someone who knew what they were doing. It was her last meal.
At eight-thirty they came for her, read the death warrant before witnesses. Morgan drank the remainder of her tea during the recitation. They relieved her of the cup, and chained her hands behind her back. They let down her magnificent bun to place the black hood over her head, and found the quaint old lady's tower of hair was mostly artificial. She bore all of this with dignity.
They marched her down the hall, and though they did not handle her as firmly as they might have a heartier, or male prisoner, she did not stumble one blind step, not even up the steps to the gallows.
Outside the death warrant was read again, for the barbaric horde who had registered to witness an execution.
"Morgan Fey, you have been sentenced by the state of California, to hang by the neck until you die. May God have mercy on your soul."
Underneath her hood, Morgan smiled.
The gods' last, greatest mercy had already been granted-- that one boon to salvage an unhappy life--
The noose drew tighter around her neck, and then the floor beneath her dropped out, tightening the rope again with a snap that echoed in the back of her neck.
Morgan Fey's life ended at 9:16 PM.
But the spirit, the ego lives on, and Morgan Fey's ego couldn't bear the truth she saw from her newfound viewpoint. The main line was not, in fact, broken.
Maya Fey was still alive, and Morgan saw her own life was in vain, as much as her death. The bitterness of her last matcha could not compare to that realisation, that she had squandered everything: her youth, her family, her dignity.
And at the sight of the sister who had taken all that from her-- Morgan let out fifty years of frustrations in one long, breathless scream.
But the real reason I'm posting it now, is because redd_white's execution only whetted my appetite.
Thank you to tricklethestars for discussing transitions with me, for transitions are my weak point.
(And apologies to people who aren't used to seeing me post more than once a month. This will not become a trend.)
"Bridges Burned"
It was a perfect plan, blessed by the gods themselves. The very day that Morgan Fey was to rise at last above the petty mortal realm, her last, petty wish was fulfilled.
The main family of the Kurain Tradition was no more. The Master, as well as her heir, was dead, leaving Morgan's own child the heir apparent.
The men guarding Morgan Fey in her final hours could never understand. The name of Fey in the article about an acolyte missing, presumed dead, was a tragedy, and an occasion to put a twenty-four hour watch on Morgan, to protect her from herself on her last day on earth. Her daughter, tied up in the investigation, would not be visiting her mother before the execution. A tragedy, to those who could not understand that a Fey would never sever all ties to the mortal world, so long as the eternal spirit remained.
Nine o'clock that evening was the appointed hour, and at seven she was offered a chaplain woefully ignorant of the Kurain denomination of Buddhism. Morgan Fey dismissed him with the assurance that she was at peace.
At eight o'clock she had one last cup of bitter green tea-- lovely thick matcha mixed, for once, by someone who knew what they were doing. It was her last meal.
At eight-thirty they came for her, read the death warrant before witnesses. Morgan drank the remainder of her tea during the recitation. They relieved her of the cup, and chained her hands behind her back. They let down her magnificent bun to place the black hood over her head, and found the quaint old lady's tower of hair was mostly artificial. She bore all of this with dignity.
They marched her down the hall, and though they did not handle her as firmly as they might have a heartier, or male prisoner, she did not stumble one blind step, not even up the steps to the gallows.
Outside the death warrant was read again, for the barbaric horde who had registered to witness an execution.
"Morgan Fey, you have been sentenced by the state of California, to hang by the neck until you die. May God have mercy on your soul."
Underneath her hood, Morgan smiled.
The gods' last, greatest mercy had already been granted-- that one boon to salvage an unhappy life--
The noose drew tighter around her neck, and then the floor beneath her dropped out, tightening the rope again with a snap that echoed in the back of her neck.
Morgan Fey's life ended at 9:16 PM.
But the spirit, the ego lives on, and Morgan Fey's ego couldn't bear the truth she saw from her newfound viewpoint. The main line was not, in fact, broken.
Maya Fey was still alive, and Morgan saw her own life was in vain, as much as her death. The bitterness of her last matcha could not compare to that realisation, that she had squandered everything: her youth, her family, her dignity.
And at the sight of the sister who had taken all that from her-- Morgan let out fifty years of frustrations in one long, breathless scream.