Morrigan had slowly been crushed under perceptions. Crystal--pregnant--no, with child by now. The image frightened and crushed her, but the babe was cute. Not like his father, the child held no malice in him, and was growing sick. She'd been stamping about, trying to figure out the answer. Crystal was a-panick for her child's health, and her panic was spreading to Morrigan's emotions, driving her partially mad with worry. It would break Crystal--seperate her into pieces, to lose the child--and yet, at the same time, was he not part of that monstrousity that had taken Morrigan's eye? The woman paced through the streets, uncaring for the hisses and glares, and unnoticing of those who actually looked upon her with concern. Some of the city's people were changing--slowly, but they were. They didn't necessarily believe her a traitor... and Morrigan was too busy being frightened to notice the world changing for the better. There were a dozen different herbs that she could have found to heal a normal, human child.. but what kind of sickness could take a child of a... a... god?!

Her reverie dragged her out of the world--to the point that when she had heard that scream, she had thought it a cruel trick of her imagination. Her bright, glass-green eye shot up in fear, waiting for some horrible flash to overcome her, but it did not. She heard the people muttering about the sound. It wasn't... in my head? Her feet started to move without her order, driven toward the sound like a mother in search of her child. "What was that?" "Who is she?" "The elder--the young elder! My god, what's happened to her..." Morrigan muscled her way through the people, uncaring of their angry grunts of disgust. Her arms sent a few at the very back of the crowd, through the domino effect, to the broken cobblestone street, but she made it through, and the vision startled and scared her.

There she lay. Morrigan feared to turn her over. She was hunched into a ball, sobbing to the point of threatening hiccups. Her deep purple nails seemed so foreign in those red-brown curls, darkened by dirt and tangled by misuse. Her dress had suffered great casualty in the forest, torn at the edges, revealing hairline cuts--probably from the relentless twigs, branches, and thorns. Signs of running from something. Morrigan was afraid that she would turn her over to find her dying, she was scared to coax her up. More frightening, she had come from the Mystic Forest--she was afraid something worse had happened. Her voice was hushed, so soft it almost was drowned out by the whispers and mumbles of the circled crowd...

"Nuki....."