Title : Robcina Week Day 4 - A Future Past

Description: Morgan has a bad dream. Or was it a long forgotten memory? After learning the truth about her own future-past, Morgan had trouble telling the difference. They all blended together, leaving her wracked with guilt knowing what she must have done. Thankfully, her parents are always there to help sort this questions out.

Notes: Takes pace a few days after the events of A Future Disowned. Written for Day 4 of Robcina Week 2020

Morgan stared down at her hands, stained dark with blood that was not her own.

All around her the town burned, choking smoke rising high into the crimson skies of the dead land. Among the scents of ash and embers came the fainter notes of rott and death, almost sickly-sweet.

Morgan closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the blood…

You should be pleased, Morgan tried to remind herself. The mission had gone without a hitch, just as her master had said it would. The paltry militia trained by those fools had been little more than ants, easily out maneuvered and forced into the trap she'd laid. All too easy, a testament to her skill as a tactician.

She turned away, trying not to look at the bodies. At the woman and children, their bodies torn and mangled by the Risen under her command. Many were barely recognizable, torn to shreds by the ravenous undead. Others, those who remained intact, would soon rise to join her forces. She didn't want to watch it happen.

Her foot caught on a loose flagstone, causing her to stumble and open her eyes as she caught herself. She straightened, failing to look away in time to avoid seeing the face of a slain girl only a few feet away. She didn't look more than eleven or twelve… not that much younger than her. She stared at her with cold, empty, blank eyes. Accusing her.

You don't feel sorry for them. Never feel sorry for them, Morgan told herself, clawing at her face with her hands, letting the pain cloud her senses. You did what Master Grima wanted. That's all that matters. You lived. They didn't. Simple as that.

Then why did she feel like she wanted to cry? She should be pleased, right? Why then did she feel so ashamed…

Morgan blinked, her vision blurred as she found herself laying on her back, a soft mattress and pillow beneath her, a cover draped lopsided over her midsection. She was in her room, at home. She'd been dreaming.

It took Morgan a moment to realize her blurred vision was not just her eyes focusing. She was crying. Her eyes were wet, as were her cheeks. She'd been crying in her sleep.

"It was just a dream… only a dream…" she whispered.

It was a lie.

She knew better. It had only been a few days since she'd returned from her world. Only a few days since she learned the truth of her own future-past. Of the monster she'd been before losing her memories…

Swinging her legs out of her bed, she hopped down to the floor. The boards creaked under her weight despite her best efforts to remain quiet. A soft murmur sounded from bed at the opposite side of the room, Morgan sucking in a hiss of breath as she tensed.

Marc rolled over in his sleep, but did not stir. Good, she hadn't woken him. Like it had been every night since he'd returned with them, her brother's expression as he slept was far from peaceful. Aways twisted with fear, anguish, or guilt. Always haunted by the nightmares that had followed him from their world.

Even though he would understand better than anyone, Morgan didn't want to wake him now. Unlike her, he didn't have the luxury of amnesia. He remembered everything they'd done in Grima's service.

Talking to him about it would just trouble him more… cause more pain…

Making her way down the hall, Morgan stopped at the next door. She reached for the handle, then thought better of it. She knocked instead, pressing her forehead up against the wood and leaning there as she called out softly. "Father? Mother? Can I… come in… please? I want to talk…"

For a moment there was no sound from the other side of the door. Then she heard hurried footsteps. The door was flung open, Morgan staggering forward as it was suddenly longer there to support her weight. She didn't even try to steady herself, instead crashing into her mother and wrapping her arms around her. She sniffled, trying not to sob. She was almost seventeen, darn it. She shouldn't be crying like this.

"Bad dream?" Her mother asked, stooping down slightly to return the embrace. Morgan felt a hand, probably her father's, come to rest on her arm.

Morgan nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Morgan heard her father ask.

Again she nodded

"Come on, dear," Morgan's mother said, rubbing her back. "I'll fix some tea for the three of us. I'm sure that will make you feel better while we talk about it."

. . . . .

"Here you go, dear," Morgan's mother told her, handing her the steaming cup she'd just finished adding cream and way-too-much sugar too. Just the way Morgan liked it.

They were sitting at the small table in her parents' room, the single lit candle at its center providing the only light. The tea had only taken minutes to make, her father's magic bringing the pot to a boil without the need for a trip to the kitchens.

Morgan said nothing, taking a sip from her cup instead.

"Feeling better?" her father asked.

"A bit…"

"Do you still want to talk about it?"

Morgan nodded slowly. She stared into her cup, watching the liquid warble with the subtle movements of her hands. Then she let out a pent of breath, slowly recounting her dream. Both her parents said nothing, listening intently as she described everything. Only when she'd finished and everything was silent once more did they move to speak.

"Are you worried it was another memory?" her father asked, referring to the one memory she'd regained back during their visit to the world of her future-past.

"I… don't know… It didn't feel the same as the last one. That felt more real… but this one didn't feel like a dream either. I dunno, like it was somewhere in between." Morgan shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

"Even if it was real, you know none of us blame you for the things that happened there. You know that, don't you," her mother tried to assure her, pacing a hand on her arm.

"I know… but it still happened right? And even if it was just a dream, it probably isn't far off from the truth…" Morgan swirled her glass, watching it's contents slosh around. "How do I not blame myself. I did bad things. Like really bad things… really really bad things… doesn't that make me a bad person?" Once again Morgan found herself struggling really hard not to cry.

Silence. For several moments no one spoke.

"Morgan, do you regret what you did?" her father asked.

"I… of course I do…" Morgan felt her shoulders tremble, fighting down another sob.

"Then you're not a bad person. A bad person wouldn't worry themselves about being bad. They'd think they were right," her father explained.

"It's only natural to feel guilty for what happened, regardless of if you come to remember it all or not. Just know that you are still loved all the same," her mother told her. "We know you are a truly kind, caring person, dear. You always try to help everyone, even if it's usual in quite the unconventional manner. That Morgan is certainly no monster."

Morgan stifled a sniffle, wiping her nose with her hand. "Thanks, Mother… that… really means a lot." Morgan blinked, feeling her eyelids droop. She yawned loudly, then laughed. "You know, now I feel really sleepy all of the sudden… like out of nowhere."

"Well, it is still really late. I think all three of us could use some more shut-eye before the morning, "Morgan's father told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and flashing a warm, reassuring smile. "Come on kiddo, let's get you back to bed,"

Morgan yawned again. Yeah, right now… that sounded pretty good. Somehow she knew that this time rest would come without the bad dreams.