who we are and all that we're trying to be
His eyes narrowed in focus, age-old, primordial, an inherent reaction to scrupulous foundations, an aspect of normalcy. The monolith nearly intended to argue over the semantics with the catapults (because those weapons had been in return for housing the Grounders over LongNight), that it had been his fault for venturing here, when he could’ve turned and wandered into any other sovereignty. He was usually the first to place blame upon his shoulders, and perhaps that accounted for why they were so heavy, so cumbersome, so weary. So when she countered that it was no fault of his own, he could only force himself into compliance and agreement, nodding to indicate the transaction (except, in the back of his mind, he’d already begun to coordinate and orchestrate some measure of another).
Remaining very still and stoic, Morgan didn’t seem to regard his sick wanderings as foolish or ridiculous, granting another reprieve from any other explanations. It’d been the only one the Sword could muster; mountains and ice and snow running through his blood, funneling away into contortions just as much as the sea, elements of turbulence, tempests, and strength barraged into his figure, until sometimes, like when he was ill, or when he dreamed, they curve and carved together.
So while expectations towards a lecture had been disregarded by the Warden’s easygoing measures towards his own stupefying actions, he certainly hadn’t predicted the next set of statements. If he appeared baffled and bewildered it was only for a series of seconds, a widening of piercing eyes, a certain slack to his jaw, before they were gone, replaced by the steady reticence, the miring of calculations.
Was he being offered a place to stay? Another refuge, another sanctuary? A world to heal within, to weather the next storm? Despite his ailments, his mind contorted and machinated in singular rapacity, not as quick, not as sharp, but the details all still there, rendering in multitudes and factions. “I do not have any remaining ties to the Grounds.” A blunt regard, but a truth. Rexanna was gone. Kiada was gone. Amalia was gone. Evie and Hotaru had disappeared. All that flickered there seemed to be remains, ashes in the dust; and perhaps it was time to remember who he was, without them. Who he could be.
The thoughts still lacerated, harsh and unrelenting, in the columns and vessels of his scarred heart.
An offering of a council position stunned him further – and the impassive mask slipped once more, found itself ill-fitted in the instances thereafter. Another argument began to brew and kindle behind his teeth, but he held it away; ready to diminish and demean himself at a moment’s notice – when he should’ve been asking about the designations. They were generous, and ultimately not something he deserved in the slightest. Morgan must’ve known that. “In what capacity?”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
