“Morrigan?” a feeble voice croaked. He was lying in a bed, old and battered blankets piled up high around him, making it appear as if he had sunken into a pile of dull leaves. Even though he wasn’t old, his hair was white and wispy. His face had the signature old look that sparks pain in so many children; the skin begins to detach and sag over the skull that protrudes more and more as the eyes sink.

“Hi, Dad.” Morrigan whispered, pulling a chair over to his bedside. The radio continued to crackle, attempting to break the pressurized silence in the room.

[Bounty on Victor Fischer increased to 50,000 coins. Twin-sister Josephine now undergoing prosthetic surgery in hopes of…]

“Still keeping up with the news? I need to buy you a new one soon,” she said, leaning over to hold his now peppered hands. She rubbed her gloved thumbs in a circular motion over his hand, trying to comfort him and ignore the way the skin rippled and folded grotesquely.

He slowly turned his head to face her, mouth hanging open as he struggled to close it and swallow over his white tongue. Voice hoarse, he answered, “No need to waste it on me. I wouldn’t have enough time to use it with this cancer.” He smiled at her, wrinkling the skin besides his fatigued eyes.

“I’m going to head over to Alyssa’s place with Juro right now. He’s in the living room. Do you need anything before I go?”

He barely nodded his head before he turned back around, staring at the blank, peeling wall ahead of him. The sun leaked in from the small window, lighting up each panel of his face in a delicate warmth. As a looming cloud intercepted the ray's kisses, the beams left sadly, like a playing child being called back inside.

“You didn’t read my letter again? This one was pretty good. Lots of stuff happened this week,” quizzed Morrigan, eyeing the empty side table.

“I don’t read letters or cards. Anyone’s.”

His voice sounded parched, cracking like the radio, so Morrigan grabbed a glass of water and angled the straw towards his mouth. He only responded with a small shake of his head, and she set the glass back down. “I’ve only written for your birthdays or big turning points in my life. I wish you’d at least read them now.”

He continued to blindly stare at the wall, leaning his head back as he struggled to swallow his spit, his neck bobbing up and down. Morrigan removed one of her gloves and went to grab his hand, but he painfully flinched away, his bottom lip trembling.

Morrigan let out a breathy laugh and put the glove back on. “My mother’s gloves. She was a Leith too, then? Is that why she was arrested?”

He finally looked at her, his exhausted eyes admiring her. “May I do your hair?”

That’s what he said every time Morrigan was upset, because that’s what her mother always did. Her mother would sit a young Morrigan down, brush her hair with her diligent fingers unraveling each knot, like a spider weaving a prize-winning web. She’d gather all the dark brown hair back, massage Morrigan’s small neck to alleviate her dissonance, and tie it up in a tight and sleek bun. Morrigan would turn around, beaming, and her mother would laugh and plant a kiss on her head in hopes it would grow into something serene.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Her dad did a decent job at first, taking on the role after her mother was dragged out of their home, kicking and screaming before being gagged and beaten with a bat to the head, never to be seen again. But as his hands failed, so did all of his attempts. They grew messier before becoming completely unrecognizable, shriveled and rotting.

“Will you really never tell me anything or read my letters? You act like you don’t care about me sometimes.” Her voice was pleading, now. Even though she tried to keep it soft and comforting, like the rays that ever so welcomed him, her emotions ate through like a dark storm.

He didn’t respond, either due to his failing ears or a refusal to answer. “Your mother, she would be so proud of you right now,” he paused for a moment to catch his breath. “So just keep moving forward. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to do more for you. I love you.”

Morrigan stood up, biting her lip again but not from sadness or regret. “I’ll be back later. If Alyssa has a spare radio, I’ll bring it for you.”

“Can you tell Juro to come in? Please? I want to speak to him alone for only a second,” he said, pushing himself up a little more.

Morrigan gave an acknowledging nod, taking a moment to calm her breathing before calling out for Juro. She heard his light steps approach as he warily peeked in from behind the cracked door.

“You okay?" he asked. "Your eyes are a little red and puffy.”

“I’m fine, it just makes me sad to see him like this. I always imagined he'd be there with me, when I was older. He wanted to talk to you for a bit,” she shot over a comforting smile, a convincing mask.

When Juro entered the room and quietly shut the door, Morrigan felt severed from her dad while she walked down the hall. Why wouldn’t he ever tell her anything? Nothing of her mother, even now. Even now on his deathbed and soon, her mother's memories and stories would die. Crippled, they would eventually vanish, and Morrigan had nothing to tell. More importantly, if her mother knew she was a Leith, why was she forced to live a life of such torment and poverty?

Why wouldn’t her dad read her cards?

Juro set foot in the room, the light breeze from the open window carrying out the musky smell of death. “Hello, sir. You needed me?” He gently sat down beside Morrigan’s dad, pulling up the blankets that had begun to slip on the ground, exposing his frail, diseased body.

“It’s good seeing you, Juro. Have you been well?" he asked, reaching a hand out for him.

Juro took it and held on tight. "It's been tough with my uncle, but your comfort has been the world to me. Even though we're not related, you're the last family member I have. You're the last person I can confide in. So, please, stay strong."

Morrigan's dad nodded, trying to shift over to see Juro better before Juro stopped him, assuring him it was fine. His face twisted in fear, and he pulled Juro close. "Morrigan, that sweet girl, things will get tougher for her soon. I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Protect her. Please. She’s stubborn, I know, but she has a good heart. Please make sure she’s safe.” His eyes pleaded with Juro as he grabbed Juro’s arm, squeezing it as hard as his failing body would allow.

Juro’s eyes widened, shocked for a moment before his warm features returned and he comfortingly held her dad.

“Of course,” he reassured solemnly. “Of course.”