Chapter 105 - Shower Thoughts
Pepper woke Morrigan up with a soft nudge on her shoulder.
“Mmmm, what?” Morrigan groaned, turning away.
“Um… it’s dinner time in an hour.”
Morrigan instantly shot up. “Are you serious?” She realized she’d slept nearly the whole day. At least she wouldn’t be tired while reaping tonight, but still…
“Sorry, I tried to wake you up earlier, but you told me to go away.”
“Uh… no, that’s okay. It’s not your job or anything.” Morrigan sighed deeply as she checked the time—6:00 PM, and dinner was usually at 7:00. She slapped her face a few times to wake up, then started gathering a towel and a change of clothes. “I’m just going to take a quick shower.”
“Oh.” Pepper’s eyes widened slightly; any deviation from a routine seemed to throw her off. Morrigan usually showered after dinner, but this time she wanted to avoid any accusations of disappearing into the bathroom to purge her meal. She didn’t feel like explaining that to Pepper, though.
“Anyway, thanks for waking me up.”
As Morrigan made her way down the hall toward the bathroom, her thoughts drifted to the texts she’d exchanged with Emma earlier. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory, especially Emma’s messages about going on a date.
A date…
It wasn’t something she’d ever really thought about before. In school, some of the girls she’d hang out with would occasionally talk about stuff like that, but she was normally silent through those conversations, only giving the reactions she thought were appropriate to whatever confessions or stories were shared—laughing when she was supposed to laugh or leaning in to feign interest when it seemed appropriate.
Her own thoughts on the topic were usually rather detached. She didn’t have crushes on any guys, and when asked who she thought was cute, she had no idea how to answer. Though the reason for that became a little more obvious as she got older. But even with a girl—actually going out with a girl—she just couldn’t really imagine it. But now, the idea of her and Emma? Something about that felt a little more natural, like something she might actually be able to get her head around. She looked forward to when they’d eventually get to spend some time together. Away from the shelter, away from reaping, and everything else.
She was beginning to realize Emma was a persistent light in her life. Even as far back as middle school, it was Emma who invited her into their friend group and helped cure her loneliness, if even just a little bit. Whenever she was at her worst and really needed someone, Emma somehow managed to sneak in and shine that tiny, crucial ray of light that she needed. That thought made her stomach flutter, and she found herself grinning, almost embarrassed at where her thoughts were going.
Then, as Morrigan slipped off her fingerless gloves and she looked at her pale skin, particularly the palm of her hand, the flutter in her chest gave way to a flicker of doubt. That much more familiar claw of anxiety made itself known.
Is it really possible for me to be with someone? How exactly is a reaper supposed to have a relationship with a mortal? Granted, I can just wear gloves to avoid my deathtouch, but still—my touch can kill her.
In the mirror, her reflection stared back—the pale skin, the sharp, red eyes that no one else saw because of the glamour. There was no denying that she wasn’t exactly human anymore, or mortal, at least. As much as she could cast away that truth and continue to pretend to live this life, it was still there, lingering in the back of her mind.
Alice still looks like a teenager. That means I probably won’t age either. Even if I can be with Emma for a while, how long can it actually last? She’ll eventually get old, and then eventually she’ll—
Morrigan forced those thoughts down. She refused to think about
She sighed, shaking her head as she stepped behind the curtain, disrobed, and tossed her dirty clothes under the stool she had set her clean clothes on top of, then turned the shower handle. As the water poured down, the warmth was a welcome relief, easing the tension in her muscles.
She thought instead about Jenna. She wasn’t afraid of them—shouldn’t be afraid of them—but they did present a bit of a complication. Mainly, she was worried that now that they thought they had something on her, they would get more bold. The past few weeks have been subtle jabs and annoying games she could shrug off. But what if they started going after Pepper again?
The thought of that made her blood boil. If they sensed any kind of weakness, they’d exploit it. Morrigan knew she’d have to be on guard, especially now. Or, at least until she managed to steal Jenna’s phone and wipe those pictures.
As she reached for the soap, she realized her hand was shaking. She tried to push her nerves down and ignore it, but the attempt to do so only seemed to make that clawing sensation worse. Her breaths were beginning to feel a little heavier, like she had to force them into her lungs.
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Calm down. Just calm down! This feeling was far too familiar, and she knew exactly where it was heading. It was the building tension of a panic attack. Why now? I’ve been adjusting. I’ve been calm! Jenna’s not a real threat! Okay, okay—breathe, just breathe.
It’s going to be alright.
The warmth of the shower felt far less like comforting and more like a trap with the walls closing in around her. What do I have to panic about? Well, I’m alone here; I’m powerless; I have no control over my life. I’m a reaper pretending to be human, and it could all easily come crashing down. She glanced in the direction of the door. She half expected to hear it creak open or see shadows move along the shower curtain. But there was nothing—just the steady hum of the water around her.
Morrigan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself down, but something wasn’t right. Her skin tingled, a subtle but unmistakable feeling that something was stirring within her. She tried to ignore it, but the sensation was growing stronger.
She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, feeling a strange but increasingly familiar slithering sensation over her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open.
The changeling.
A single blackish-grey tendril came over her shoulder and began wrapping around her arm.
Morrigan’s pulse quickened, but she tried to steady herself, convincing herself that it was nothing. It wasn’t uncommon for the changeling to come out when it wasn’t sealed, but she could always draw it back in. However, the subtle rippling along her back grew stronger—something was different. The creature was reacting to her, responding to her anxiety and acting without permission.
Another tendril, almost invisible in the steam, curled forward from under her other arm, snaking its way around her body. Morrigan’s heart raced. She directed her thoughts, mentally commanding it. No! Not right now! Go back in!
The changeling only seemed to feed off her rising tension, the tendrils growing more agitated in response as another whipped out and smacked the wall with a wet thwack. No. Stop! Morrigan clenched her fists, willing it back. But the creature, while tied heavily to her consciousness, still had its own will—it was not her slave, and she knew that. Right now, it wasn’t listening, and it seemed like the more she tried to control it, the more it pushed back. She turned her back to the shower wall as another tendril flicked out, facing it against something solid that it was less likey to tear into, like the shower curtain. She’d have no way to explain the damage if it broke something.
Morrigan’s hands trembled as she desperately whispered now, trying to reassure herself. But the panic attack was only getting worse; her breathing was becoming uneasy, and with the acknowledgment she couldn’t control her emotions, nor the changeling, only made things worse and worse—snowballing out of control.
What am I going to do? What if I can’t control it?! What if I totally lose control?! AAAAH! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!
Morrigan’s breath hitched as the changeling’s tendrils writhed, snaking around her arms and chest, coiling toward the shower floor. She tried to steady her breathing, but each attempt only tightened the pressure in her chest, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her vision blurred, dark spots creeping in from the edges. Desperately, she crouched down, squeezing her eyes shut and cradling her head, fighting to regain control.
"You can control this. Just breathe,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaking.
But her body wasn't listening, and neither was the changeling. The dark tendrils moved with a life of their own, curling and stretching like serpents seeking something to latch onto. The sound of her pulse throbbed louder, drowning out the steady hum of the shower water.
Another tendril flicked against the wall of the shower with a soft thwack, and Morrigan’s panic spiked.
“No, no, no… STOP!” she choked out, her voice barely audible.
She forced herself to think of anything that could calm her down—happy thoughts, right? Anything to help push the anxiety away. Emma came to mind—her smile, her teasing jokes, her steady presence. Morrigan clung to that image, her mind replaying Emma’s texts from earlier—the way she’d vented about her mom and their future together, how supportive she always was, how she joked about running away and joining a witch’s coven, about being free.
She held onto Emma like a lifeline, letting it ground her, and slowly, the tendrils began to loosen, retracting little by little. The pressure in her chest eased slightly, and Morrigan dared to open her eyes again.
The changeling began retreating, its tendrils curling back behind her shoulders, sliding beneath her flesh as if they had never appeared. Her breathing slowed, though her body still trembled from the remnants of her panic attack.
With a shaky breath, she collapsed against the wall, resting her cheek against the cool tiles of the shower. She closed her eyes, letting the water cascade over her as she whispered to herself again, this time more gently, "It’s okay. It’s over."
Her pulse began to settle, but exhaustion hit her hard. Despite all her sleep today, it seemed impossible that she could feel so completely drained. She sat there, letting the water flow over her, her mind racing through everything that had just happened.
After a few moments, Morrigan reached up to the nozzle and turned off the water. Taking another moment to gather her strength, she stood back up and reached past the curtain for her towel. As she did so, she caught her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. The red eyes were the only thing clear as they stared back at her through the haze, almost judging, and she felt the weight of her reality pressing in again.
How am I supposed to live a normal life like this? She wondered, disappearing back behind the shower curtain and drying off. What if I couldn’t get the changeling under control? What would happen then? Could it become powerful enough to just drag me along with its own whims again? Like when it first latched onto me? It’s not supposed to be fully conscious anymore, but what if Hilda and Death are wrong—what if it is? What if it’s just waiting?
She shuttered at the thought.
After drying off, she got dressed and pulled the hoodie back on, zipping it up, and feeling relieved to have the changeling tucked behind its seal again. She hadn’t lost control like that in a while, but it was a sure sign that it could happen again, and maybe even worse next time. If the changeling were ever to truly spiral out of control, Jenna and her crew might be the least of her worries.
With a deep breath, she made her way back to her room, determined to put on a brave face for Pepper. She couldn’t afford to let anyone else see her cracking. She still had to get through dinner, she had some reaping to do, and she had to figure out what she planned to do about Jenna’s blackmailing and the little idiotic mission of grabbing a pack of cigarettes.
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