Morrigan dragged her bags over to the window as moonlight flooded the room, dying everything an iridescent blue. Everything she planned on taking to her new life was packed away in two bags, filled to the brim with supplies, clothes, and enough non-perishables to last a few days. Everything else was already stashed away. She looked the bags over one more time, digging through them to find a rope attached to a grappling hook. She hauled it onto her shoulder before turning and opening the window. Behind her, across the room, her sword remained on the table with a note stuck to its sheath.
I quit. Find someone else.
It had only been a few years since she vanquished the demon lord with the help of her friends, but those who made it out of the scuffle alive did not go unchanged. Her witch friend, Althea, hardly left her workshop anymore since she lost her familiar. Finn, the archer, moved south and, last Morrigan had heard, became a drunkard who was rarely sober enough to string a bow. No one else in their seven-person party survived. The last time she saw her remaining friends together was in a tavern over a year ago. While catching up, Althea sympathized with her.
“So, they turned the legendary hero into an errand girl? Seems like a waste to me.”
Morrigan shook her head, dispelling the memories the best she could as she quietly lowered her bags onto the roof beyond the window. She stepped over the sill, careful to apply her weight to the shingles slowly. If anyone found her, they would try to talk her out of it. She held her breath as she steadied herself. She stood there for a moment.
The city was sleeping. White buildings with tawny-colored shingles spread out around her, clusters of homes and businesses separated by snaking cobblestone streets. Street lamps on each corner let off a soft, orange glow against the darkness, but not a window in sight was lit. She took the sight in as the wind lashed at her ears and the scent of the last rain met her nose. She knew this was the last time she would see all of this. It was also the last time she would be stuck staying at an inn.
She snagged her grappling hook on the windowsill and continued toward the edge of the roof. After lowering her bags to the ground, she used the rope to scale down the wall after them. Her hands, free of the calluses she developed over her adventures, burned by the time her feet touched the cobblestone. When she let go, she examined her hands and brushed them on her shirt. It was the first time in a while that she wasn’t completely numb. She swung the rope, dislodging the grappling hook from its spot, and pulled it down. She fastened it around her waist like a belt and continued on.
As Morrigan walked along, memories of her previous adventures stirred in her head. At first, it was the good times, like when she bought her first set of armor at the blacksmith’s shop around the corner, but as she continued, the more recent moments overtook the old ones. She passed the warbling fountain in the city square, a spot where she gathered with her friends plenty of times, but all she could remember was the last time she had sat on the edge of the basin’s rim. Morrigan had winced at the thunderous music that played that night, pressing her bandaged arm against her ribs. The cheery lanterns she enjoyed before the final battle were blinding, stinging and burning her eyes. Althea sat beside her, trying to hide her tears and new scars under the brim of her hat. She cradled the collar of her beloved cat, her familiar, in her hands. Finn stared straight ahead expressionlessly, gauze wrapped around his leg and over his right eye, and took a swig of his drink. It all faded from Morrigan’s mind as she passed through the unguarded gates.
So long.
Carrying her bags, she disappeared into the night.
Early the next morning, Morrigan arrived at a familiar building in the next town over. Dreary autumn leaves stirred and skittered across the stone road as Morrigan approached the front steps. Underneath the peeling paint and overcast sky, the wood of the workshop’s facade had morphed into a faded gray color she didn’t remember. She searched for the metal bell that once hung by the door, instead finding only a bare string dangling there. She drew in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out shakily as she knocked on the door in front of her.
Nothing.
She knocked again, careful not to rattle the smudged panes of glass toward the top. This time a muffled, groggy voice sounded from the other side.
“One second.” Then, the door creaked open, and what little sunlight there was spilled into the room on the other side. A short woman with wavy, platinum blonde hair emerged from behind its edge, rubbing her eyes and the dark circles beneath them. When she was done, she looked up at Morrigan, who gave a weak smile.
“Morrigan? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Althea. I, um—”
Althea’s hand found her forehead, then slid down to rub her eyes again. She backed away from the door.
“Just come in,” she groaned, motioning with her free hand.
The inside of Althea’s workshop had hardly changed. Wooden shelves were scattered haphazardly on the walls, lined with glass jars, gemstones, plants, and books. Underneath them stood workbenches, each with a different purpose. The one beside the window was for growing herbs and other materials for spell work and potions, the others were for concocting them or practicing various forms of divination. The table in the darkest part of the room, beside her candle-lit altar and an empty cauldron, was reserved for studying her craft. A small cat bed was tucked into the corner underneath it, collecting dust. Across from it all and closest to Morrigan was a small seating area, complete with a couch, a comfortable-looking chair, and a low table between them. Morrigan sat down on the couch, knowing Althea preferred the chair.
“So, what brings you here?” Althea asked, wandering to the chair from one of the workbenches. She placed a silver tray on the table between them, teacups clattering when it met the surface. Althea took her seat in the chair and lifted her cup, taking a gulp without adding any sugar. Morrigan’s eyes wandered back down to the tray and she rubbed the back of her neck.
“I’m going on a trip for a while.”
Althea paused, the rim of the cup still pressed to her lips. She blinked as she lowered it to rest in her lap.
“He didn’t come back, did he?” she asked.
Morrigan lifted her head, looking directly at Althea.
“No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine. I just want to get away for a while.”
“Have you talked to Finn?”
“I tried to a while ago, but . . .” Morrigan’s voice trailed off as she recalled all of the names he had called her and how the guards had to restrain him before she left. She shook her head. “He made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see me.”
“He shouldn’t blame you, but he’s hurting still. Thady was his brother, after all. You can’t just bounce back after losing someone like that.” She tilted her head, her eyes drifting to the empty cat bed. “I should know.”
A silence grew between them. Morrigan searched for the right words to say, but was interrupted when Althea cleared her throat, took another sip of her tea, and then stood up.
“So, are you looking for supplies?” she asked, heading further into her workshop. Morrigan gripped the hem of her shirt, looking at the tray on the table again.
“No. I was actually wondering if you wanted to come with me.”
Althea stopped mid-step, her back to Morrigan. She sighed and shook her head as she turned around.
“Morrigan, I can’t go on another wild adventure.”
“It’s not like that. I’m—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving.”
Morrigan stood up as Althea dragged a small wooden crate out from underneath one of her worktables. The witch paced back and forth, reading the labels of various potion bottles on one of the shelves, and began loading the crate with them.
“Althea, I—” Before Morrigan could finish what she was saying, Althea shoved the crate into her arms and spun her around by her shoulders. The door of the workshop swung open by itself as Althea forced Morrigan forward. Morrigan tried not to trip as she found herself returning to the front step.
“Wait, Althea, I—”
“I’m sorry, Morrigan, but this is all I can do for you.”
The door slammed shut. A knot formed in Morrigan’s stomach as she turned toward the road again, her eyes following a leaf as it drifted down from the gutters to land on the crate of potions. She took a deep breath and ambled down the steps.
It only took a few days for Morrigan to reach her next destination. The sun’s rays were just beginning to illuminate the swaying grass around her when she approached the treeline of the forest. She was at the edge of the kingdom, or rather the border that separated it from its neighbor. All that lay between them was this quiet forest, mostly untouched by people. On her first visit here, she was given a warning.
“Make sure you stay on the road,” the village elder said, pointing a trembling, bony finger at Morrigan and her party. “If you step off for even a moment, you won’t be able to find your way back.” They thanked her and continued on, anticipating a dark forest with thick brush and dense clusters of trees. While at least part of what they envisioned was true, they were surprised to find the forest filled with light.
Yellow and green spores rained down from the canopy above, sparkling like fireflies as they drifted down toward the ground. Red, orange, and yellow leaves followed behind them from the rustling treetops, blanketing the path and crumpling underneath their boots. As Morrigan and her party passed through, a sort of warmness filled her chest, a feeling she could only describe as comfort.
Now she strolled through the forest again, those same glowing lights dancing on the breeze. She watched them fall as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to ignore the aching in her shoulders, back, and feet. Her eyes scanned the edge of the road as she walked along and she turned into the forest when she spotted the first stone. She followed them deeper into the brush, using her own makeshift path she left behind on a previous visit. When she reached the end of it, she found her new home.
The cabin stood in a clearing just big enough to host it, surrounded on all sides by a sea of trees. She beamed as she approached it, finding everything just the way she left it a few weeks ago. She had built most of the structure from the forest itself, harvesting wood and stones from the nearby wilderness. Any other materials, like glass or metal, came as rewards from quests she took on across the kingdom. The cabin was small, only one room with the basic framework for a new workshop off the side, but it was fitted with a stove and there was a heap of stones by the door for making paths, and that was all she really needed.
She headed inside, the door creaking when she closed it behind her, and dropped her bags on the floor. Unpacking would have to wait. She stumbled across the room to the large bed she had built in the corner and flopped on its fluffy covers. Finally, after years of work, she was home, even if she was alone.
The following weeks passed by quickly for Morrigan. Even though the cabin was stocked with non-perishables, she only had a limited amount of time to prepare for winter. Her days usually began with eating breakfast and then heading out into the forest with her pockets full of stones. She left them behind as she hunted and foraged, creating winding trails back to the cabin. Moments with Althea and Finn filled her head as she went about her tasks. She could almost hear Finn instructing her as she strung and aimed her bow, reminding her to push forward with her bow hand, and the same could be said for whenever she spotted a plant Althea had shown her before. As time went on, the burning in her shoulders subsided with every hunt and detecting herbs and berries became second nature to her eyes and nose. The voices from her memories quieted down until they eventually died off. A full two months passed before anything seemed amiss.
Since the forest was just a short passageway between two kingdoms, no human had ever dwelled there as long as Morrigan had, so she was the first to learn what happened when the effects of the spores took hold. First came the mushrooms, the ones that made her scalp itch like crazy. Their caps poked out of her red hair and more began to sprout from the freckles on her neck and shoulders around the same time as her horns grew in, protruding just above her ears and curling upward into spikes. Her ears became pointed and her teeth and nails grew sharper the longer she stayed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror one morning, tilting her head and craning her neck to look at her horns from multiple angles.
Huh, this is actually pretty cool!
While she didn’t understand why, Morrigan felt something that she hadn’t since she headed off to face the demon lord: pride. As her days went on, she grew more accustomed to her newfound features. On top of her foraging and hunting, Morrigan dedicated her evenings to tailoring her clothes so she didn’t have to pull her shirts over her head. When her horns grew tall enough to hit the doorway, she got into the habit of ducking before she stepped in or out.
More changes came when the season began to shift. As the world around her grew colder, the fall leaves finally withering from the forest and being replaced by a blanket of snow, Morrigan grew stronger. One day, while she was out hunting, the grip of her bow snapped in half. She examined it in her hands as her target scampered away and found both sides of the bow hanging together by the string, the wood splintered. She returned home, dragging the bow behind her and picking up the stones as she went. It was only then that she noticed it took less effort to push the front door open and her pots and pans, even when full, were easier to lift.
I wonder if Althea knows anything about this stuff.
It was the first time she had thought of Althea in a few weeks. She paced over to the cupboard that stood next to her bed and scanned the collection of potions that the witch had given her, which were arranged neatly on the middle shelf. There were potions of mobility, elemental resistance, petrification, and more, but nothing like the effects of the spores.
Of course she wouldn’t have anything like this. She’s never had the chance to study it.
She climbed onto her bed and her eyes drifted to the door across the room. She slouched forward, resting her chin against her knuckles.
I bet she would be super excited to hear about this. I wouldn’t mind being a lab rat if it meant seeing her again.
Then she remembered the rush of air against her face when the door slammed, leaving her on the front step.
But what if she doesn’t want to see me?
That’s when Morrigan’s ear twitched, picking up on a fluttering sound across the room. She looked to the kitchen table, spotting a stack of paper there. When she got up and headed toward it, she noticed that she had left the kitchen window cracked open. The only thing holding the paper down was a quill and a vial of ink. She moved them to the side, taking up the quill with one hand and holding down the paper with the other.
Well, I’ll know how she feels if she ignores this.
Morrigan tried to pull the hood of her cloak up over her head, only for it to snag on her horns. She groaned as she struggled with it, the soles of her boots crunching against the snow that blanketed the main road to the village. A nearby owl hooted and then was drowned out by the sound of ripping fabric. Morrigan let out a growl as her fingers searched the top of her hood, finding that one of her horns had torn all the way through. She made a mental note to create holes for her horns in the future and gave up, leaving the hood partially draped over her head. She shoved her hand in her pocket, finding her letter for Althea there. All she had to do was attach it to a carrier bird and send it on its way. The magic seal on the envelope would do the rest, but of course, this meant going into the village.
When she arrived, everything was still and quiet. Unlike the city she left behind, the village was so small that it didn’t have street lamps. In fact, the only things that illuminated the night were the stars above and the few homes, which still had a window or two lit. Another was snuffed out as Morrigan continued on her way, deciding to sneak down an alleyway to the side of the village. The remaining lights guided her, but she took care to duck below the windows, even crawling through the snow to keep her horns low enough. After what felt like an hour of freezing agony, Morrigan made it to the bird pen at the edge of the village.
“Finally,” she whispered. She crept up to the door to the pen, finding that it was unlocked. When she opened it, the birds began to squawk, flapping their wings. She grabbed the closest one, which grew even louder.
“Please, shut up,” she pleaded, quiet but shrill. The bird instead pecked at her hand. Morrigan hissed and grumbled as she turned the bird around in her hands to find the pouch strapped to its back, already open. She held it tightly with one hand and pulled her letter out of her pocket with the other. She slipped the envelope inside the pouch and snapped it closed. When she let go, the bird fluttered away from her, then steadied itself as it flew off in the direction of Althea’s workshop. After the bird was out of sight, Morrigan turned and headed back the way she came, now finding that all of the lights had gone out. Guided by the stars, she found her way back to the main road. Along the way, it felt like a weight was pressing on her neck and shoulders, like a set of eyes were locked onto the back of her head. She tried to shrug it off as she slipped back into the forest.
A few days passed and Morrigan was jolted awake by the sound of breaking glass. She sat upright and swung her head to look at the kitchen, her vision still blurry. When it cleared, she saw the flickering flames spreading across the floor. Thick, black smoke billowed upward, pressing against the ceiling and crawling closer as the flames made their way to the dining table. Morrigan scrambled to her feet, snatching her cloak and blindly grabbing a potion bottle from the cupboard. She shoved it in her pocket and turned to the window behind her, standing on top of her bed to reach it. The smoke had finally reached her, shrouding her face and lungs as she coughed. She popped the pane of glass out of its frame and let it fall to the ground outside. The flames behind her roared, fueled by the cold air. They were inching closer to the bed, radiating heat against the backside of her body, when she slipped out the window. She tumbled to the ground, narrowly missing the glass but feeling the sting of the cold snow. She was stumbling away from the cabin, looking back at it with wide eyes, when a realization struck her.
If that came through this window, I would be dead.
Her eyes frantically scanned the forest around her, looking for a way to run, when her ear twitched at the sound of boots crunching against the snow. She looked over to see a younger man, clad in armor, walking around the frame of the unfinished workshop. His dark hair stood out against the whirling snow as he grinned, putting a hand on his hip as he stared Morrigan down.
“I figured that would smoke you out. Nice place you have here.” He glanced at the burning cabin and let out a short chuckle. “Sorry, had.”
Morrigan’s jaw tightened, her sharpened teeth interlocking.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he drew a familiar sword from a sheath strapped to his hip. Her sword.
“Look, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” Morrigan started. “I’m not—”
“The villagers are terrified. It took forever for me to find your little hideout on my own. They were all too scared of the demon in the forest, so scared that they put a bounty on your head. But, if you come quietly, I won’t have to kill you.”
He held out one of his hands to Morrigan, but gripped the hilt of the sword readily with the other. A chill ran down her spine.
“I know how this goes.”
“Huh?”
“I was a hero like you once, but I never lied like what you’re doing now.”
The armored man laughed. “How could a demon be a hero?”
“I’m not a demon. My name is Morrigan Galwyn.” It had been so long since she had said the name that it felt weird on her tongue. He tilted his head at her, then began to laugh again.
“Yeah, right. No one’s seen Morrigan in months. The running theory right now is that something killed her.” He stopped and looked Morrigan up and down. “Now that I think about it, she never showed up in the other kingdom either. Did you kill her?”
At that moment, Morrigan was human again, standing at the treeline of the forest, her body and soul aching, alone. All she wanted was her friends back, for them to smile again, for them to trust her again. All she wanted was to live peacefully with them again. But now? Now she couldn’t have any of that. Now she wanted nothing.
A grin crossed her face.
“Maybe I did.”
That was all it took for the armored man to rush toward her. Her breath hitched in her throat as she backed away, light on her feet. She narrowly avoided being clipped by his blade, but felt a familiar stinging sensation in her toes. They were already going numb from the cold. Her attention was turned back to the fight when he swung again. She ducked, her horns clashing with his sword. Morrigan shook him off and retreated backward, her heart thudding against the inside of her chest.
“You might as well stop now,” she warned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he attempted to slash her again. Morrigan tilted her head to the side, parrying the blade with her horns. After she stepped out of the way, she searched her clothes for anything she could use as a weapon. When she slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers met the frigid glass of the potion bottle.
Which one is this?
Then she remembered that all of the potions came in the same kind of bottle. She cursed Althea in her head as the armored man took another stab at her. This time, he nicked her cheek. A warm stream of blood trickled down her face and dripped off her chin.
“It’s not too late to—” Morrigan stopped when she found her back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. She gripped the neck of the potion bottle, keeping her eyes focused on the armored man.
At least I won’t feel bad about beating him down if I give him an advantage.
He trudged closer through the snow, raising his sword above his head to swing. That was when she flung the potion bottle at him, the glass shattering against his forehead. At first, he recoiled and sputtered, dropping the sword. He frantically tried to wipe the liquid off his face. Morrigan, seeing her chance, kicked him square in the chest, laying him flat on his back. She snatched up the sword and stumbled away from the tree and backward, her eyes still locked on him. The man screamed and floundered, his blood staining the snow red. He was cursing as he tried to get up and Morrigan held her sword readily, but something seemed off. His movements changed from fluid to jittery, becoming more and more rigid as each second passed. Eventually, he stopped moving altogether, fixed in place.
Morrigan paused. Beneath his armor, the man’s chest expanded and contracted shallowly and wisps of breath froze in the air in front of his nose, but nothing else moved. Even his eyes remained open, unblinking as they focused on her. They didn’t move when she stepped away. She finally breathed out, her neck and shoulders relaxing as she lowered the sword. Then, she turned her attention to the cabin.
The structure was well on its way to withering completely in the flames, the roof already collapsing in on the walls. A cloud of cinders rose from the burning heap to meet the spores in the air, then disappeared as they were snuffed out. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then looked down at the man again. His eyes were glossy like melting wax against the light of the flames.
It would be nightfall before he could move again, and even then his joints would be stiff for days. Morrigan crouched down beside him and reached for the belt that held her sword’s sheath to his hip. She unclipped it and pulled it off of him, fastening it to her waist instead. She returned the sword to the sheath before removing and equipping his boots and a few pieces of his armor. Now the man laid on the ground, paralyzed and wearing the bare minimum to keep him from freezing to death.
At least he’ll have the fire to keep him warm.
Morrigan carefully closed the man’s eyelids and gazed at the burning cabin one last time. Now the main part of the cabin had completely collapsed and the flames had made their way across the framing for the workshop that never was. Deciding there was nothing left for her there, Morrigan turned her back to it all and headed back toward the main road, picking up the stones from her path as she went.
Author’s Note: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! I initially wrote this as a stand-alone short story for one of my creative writing classes, but a lot of my classmates urged me to continue with this premise/story. I have some ideas in mind and a couple of things written already. If you’d like to see more of this story, these characters, or my writing in general, please let me know in the comments. Thank you. 🖤
Inkrot Calico 
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