A/N - Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, and following. I'm having intense levels of writers block. I thought I wanted to go one direction, realized I hated it, and am now re-writing things. I definitely want to explore parts of the Augments past (a lot of it fabricated with snippets of what I've read about them). Again, thank you and I swear I'll be posting some real meat soon!
"I shot for the sky,
I'm stuck on the ground.
So why do I try? I know I'm gonna fall down.
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
Never know why it's coming down, down, down."
Jason Walker – "Down"
The room was dark and small; dusky wood paneled the walls and there was a small window at the far end. Beyond the window was a large green field, which in the day was filled with flowers. A jumble of colors, blues, pinks, yellows, oranges, and reds. Her favorite were the red. There was something about the power of the color that stirred something in her. It made her think of apples in the orchard, sweet and crisp, or sunsets on the hill.
In front of the window was a desk at which sat a woman. She was older, perhaps in her mid to late 40's with dark auburn hair shocked with white. Her face was an austere surface of sharp angles and high cheekbones. She stared straight ahead now with amber eyes, eyes full of reproach and disappointment, with a trace of sadness underneath.
The objects of those eyes were two children, maybe 8 or 9 years old. One was a young boy, a lanky arrangement of skinny elbows and skinny legs not yet grown to their full potential. His hair was a riot of rich chocolate set upon a surprisingly aquiline face. It was a face from the past, one that was chiseled on pale marble statues by lost civilizations. It was his eyes though that struck. They were eyes that burned with an icy flame. She remembered the time that Amos had found a stray match underneath the couch cushions and lit it. The tiny flame flared up suddenly before them and they had watched in awe as it had burned itself down. The center of the flame was blue. Amos had told her that was the hottest part of the fire. With brash disregard, she had pressed two fingers to the match. Pain shot through her fingers as they instantly welted up red. His eyes burned like that.
The other child was her – a skinny thing with stormy grey eyes and messy blonde hair. Adelaide, one of the keepers, always tried to brush it, scolding her, 'Women kill for hair like yours, Morrigan. You should take better care of it.' But she didn't care. Hair was hair. Hair couldn't help her climb down the cliff face to the sandy beach below and it certainly couldn't help her beat all the others at king of the mountain.
They were in trouble, again. It was a weekly ritual to find them seated before Matron because of some mischief or another. Today was different though. They had been sitting in her office for a whole 15 minutes and she hadn't said a word. Normally she would order them in and have her tirade in full swing before the door closed.
They had all be out playing on the beach, splashing in the waves and investigating the tidal pools. But Amos had fallen while he'd been jumping from rock to rock, losing his footing on a slippery piece of seaweed. Khan and Morrigan had been at a nearby tidal pool when it had happened. Amos had struggled to swim, his arms weak against the crashing waves. It was well known that both of them were strong swimmers, but Khan and Morrigan had just stood by and watched. It wasn't until Adelaide had run over and leapt in that Amos was pulled from the water.
So, today Matron was quiet and the silence spoke volumes.
Any of the other kids would have been squirming in their seats now, but they didn't move a muscle.
"I just want to know why." Matron's voice was barely a whisper when she broke the silence.
"No…not why, how? How could you do such a thing?"
Morrigan looked over Khan who did not return the favor. He was sitting languidly in the chair, arm slung loosely over the top. He was looking at Matron with an undaunted expression on his face.
"What exactly was it that we did, Matron?" He asked coolly.
"Khan, you know damn well what I'm talking about." Matron rarely swore. She always had a tight handle on herself.
"That was not what I asked. I asked what we did, because from what I recall we did nothing."
"Which is entirely the issue!" Matron slammed her hand down on the desk. She was flustered by his blasé response to her questioning. He did not falter, however, and did not shift from his relaxed position. Khan had always reminded Morrigan of one of the princes in Adelaide's stories. Imperial and confident. Nothing ever fazed him.
"There was nothing to do." Khan stared back defiantly – even Matron had to look away.
"He could have died." She whispered, knowing full well that the weight of her words held little merit.
"Then, perhaps, he deserved to die." Khan replied quietly, simply. The answer had been obvious to all of them before he had even uttered the words. Morrigan knew it because it was truth and Matron knew because she was painfully aware of how different these children she had taken on were. These children with forbidding eyes and treacherous smiles.
"Go." She finally said after a long pause, looking down at her desk. Khan did not even blink; he just slid calmly from his seat and walked from the room. He didn't give Matron a second look.
Morrigan did not leave yet. She cocked her head to the side and really looked at Matron. The woman looked so tired; the black smudges under eyes dark against pale skin pulled taut by her tight bun. There were crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and wriggly lines on her forehead. She looked old.
"Matron?"
"I dismissed you, Morrigan. You can go." Matron did not look up from her careful study of the desk. Her voice was deflated, an insipid reflection of her usual authoritative tone. It bothered Morrigan.
"Aren't you going to punish us?" Because that was what she always did. Matron told them they did wrong and then banished them to time out, or took away their toys, or sent them to bed without supper, or a combination of all three. She never did nothing at all. Morrigan knew something was wrong. Perhaps that was the main difference between her and Khan.
'We do not abide the weak, Morrigan,' he had said after Adelaide had ordered them back to the orphanage. 'You and I both know we're different. It's so obvious. These other kids are just sheep. But we are wolves.'
She knew he was right – she could feel it deep inside. They were faster, stronger, and smarter than all the others. They didn't need to sleep or eat as much. Khan said this meant they were better. Which by simple definition, it did. When you can do something twice as well as someone else, it meant you were better. But, what Morrigan didn't know was whether it truly made them better.
"You wish to be punished?" Matron looked up at her now, confused.
"That wasn't what I said." Morrigan responded. "I asked if we were going to be punished."
"I hardly think it will do any good then." Matron broke eye contact first, standing up from her desk and turning to stare out the window. Daylight was fading fast and the horizon was tinged with an angry shade of blood red.
"That's not how it works." Morrigan was annoyed that she had turned her back on her. Matron was the adult and Morrigan was the child. That was the balance of things. "You said we did something wrong. When we do things wrong, you punish us."
"And why do I punish you, Morrigan?" Matron asked.
"So we don't do the wrong thing again." An obvious answer for an obvious question.
Matron placed two hands on the window sill and gripped it tightly, as if she had to brace herself from falling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "See that's the problem. I do think you both will do what you did again. Punishing you will do no good." She still hadn't opened her eyes.
And now Morrigan was even more confused.
