Disclaimer: I don't own Daughters Of The Moon.
Notes: The story takes place during Goddess Of The Night, after Morgan's hope is stolen.
She is weeping — the Girl is weeping.
The ribbons of her radiant childhood are fraying, the memories consumed by a darkness her mind cannot perceive within their reality.
"It's okay, child," Maggie soothes, her withered hand grazing the Girl's golden mane, "you will find the light. I trust you."
"It's hurts," the Girl croaks, the mascara running down her flushed cheeks, "it hurts, it hurts... Make it stop." She tucks her knees closer, her fetal position tightening, and buries her face into Maggie's skirt. "Please, it hurts..."
Maggie, her forehead crinkling, breathes a heavy sigh. "I know, sweetheart. I know." The Girl is sinking into her own sorrow, and the nightmares are definitely ravaging the ruins of her scattered soul. "Tell me a story," she says, her tone warm and inviting, "of a moment in your childhood you loved."
The Girl shakes her head, defiant, perhaps even scared to confront the now foreign taste of joy.
"You were laughing in this memory, weren't you?" Maggie's lips curve into a small smile. "And somebody was with you. A friend, of course. A best friend."
"Vanessa," the Girl whimpers, and then her tears spill harder, her mouth open as she releases a sob, "Vanessa. Oh, please, please make it stop."
"Vanessa? Why were you and Vanessa so happy that day?"
Morgan stifles a sob, and then mumbles, "Catty. She got stuck in a swing. It was for baby's, and she thought she could fit. Vanessa was nervous at first, and Catty was embarrassed, but I laughed, and Catty was mad, and then Vanessa laughed, too... And Catty started to laugh." Blinking away the tears, she gazes upward at Maggie. "What's happening to me?"
"I gave you a remedy," she explains, patting the Girl's shoulder, "and now you have to fight through this. Don't let the darkness in. Stay with the light. Stay with those memories. Now why is that your favorite memory, sweetie?"
"Catty was stupid," Morgan declares haughtily, "and Vanessa agreed, too."
The elderly woman detects an edge of jealousy, and her hand smooths the Girl's damp hair. It wouldn't be wise to coax her past — and perhaps present — streak of envy toward the friendship between Vanessa and Catty. "Vanessa is the best friend you have ever had. What do you like about her? What has drawn you toward her?"
"I want to be her," Morgan admits hollowly, brokenly.
"Why is that, sweetling?"
"She is pretty."
Maggie laughs a little. "You are beautiful, Morgan." And it is true, although her cold, crass demeanor distorts this fact. Negativity was intimate with her. It is no surprise evil forces so naturally and easily seduced her.
"And she's nice," Morgan continues, her tone firmer, stronger. Good. "I'm not nice... I'm not."
"The very fact you prize kindness as a virtue is a testament to your pure heart, my beautiful."
The Girl's tears have dried; her eyes are swollen and red, skin blotchy. "Is it over?"
It is never over. Maggie is tired, so tired. "Not quite. I need you to keep reaching for your light."
"But I'm tired." You have no idea, little one.
"You are a warrior," Maggie encourages, "a goddess."
Morgan is a mortal woman — her spirit, her melancholy, the curve of her hips, the crook of her neck — crafted by the gods themselves. A woman who suffers and endures as the gods have decreed: that alone means she is a goddess.
The Girl sighs thinly. "I feel better."
"I know you do, mon petite," Maggie says, her smile wide and vibrant. "You are stronger than you know."
When Morgan tilts her head, a wayward lock of blonde hair falling over her eye, and Maggie finds herself staring at long forgotten memory – a sister, a friend, an enemy.
You are stronger than Taemestra ever was, Morgan Page.