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connan-l · 3 years

Text

Feverish

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Morgana & Nellie Rhodes, Morgana & Mell Rhodes

Summary: Morgana was only going to give her blood to Mell’s sister, as usual. But when the boy has to go out for an emergency, she find herself all alone in his home, for only company the heavily sick Nellie…

Takes place during Requiem before Morgana get kidnapped.

Content Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, blood, brief past child abuse, and vague codependent sibling incest because of the mess that is Nellie and Mell.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Hi, no I did not give up writing fanfics, I’ve just been kinda busy and in a sort-of writer block for the past few months lol. But anyhow, I’ve had this in my drafts since like January and thought it was time to finally complete it!

This is kind of a “I’m curious about what a relationship between Morg and Nellie would looks like” and “I wanna see Morgana be friends with other girls her age” mixed story lol. Nellie in Door 8 sounded so intrigued and grateful towards the “saint” who saved her and was so determined to help her that I wanted to experiment a little with this…

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The flaxen-haired boy opened the door, and politely let her enter his small house before him. He was just as gallant as ever, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, staring instead at the floor distractedly. It was obvious how nervous he was around her — just as it was obvious that he really wanted to quickly get this over.

Morgana didn’t mind. He had been acting this way for weeks now, so she was pretty used to it. And really, she had no reason to mind at all. It was perfectly normal for him to be nervous (afraid) of her — to be distant and uneasy.

It was how things should be. She was fine with it.

(It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all.)

“Uh, Nellie is still sleeping,” Mell said hesitantly, and Morgana simply nodded as she stepped into the young girl’s room. His sister was generally always sleeping whenever she came, and even when she wasn’t, with such a high fever, she was barely aware of her surroundings at all.

She was lay down on a small bed, her round face flushed and sore, and her chest heaving with difficulty in the spasmodic rhythm of her painful, guttural breathing. Her fever was still going strong, and her dull blonde curls stuck to her sweaty skin.

Morgana had only ever seen her in this state. A barely awake, deteriorated body, that sometimes even seemed at the gates of death. According to Mell, she was but a shadow of her usual self; a very bright, smiling, energetic child, which was hard to imagine upon witnessing her current corpse-like condition. A selfish part of Morgana felt relieved to not have to encounter the normal Rhodes sister, though — as she had never been really good at dealing with bubbly people.

Nellie was fourteen, only two years younger than her. Now that she thought about it… that was probably the first time she hanged out with another girl her age (as much as she could call this ‘hanging out.’) In her village, the other children never approached her, their parents always making sure they didn’t — “Do not importunate the saint!” — and at the brothel, the prostitutes had all been older than her by at least a few years. There were other kids in the slums of course, but most of them didn’t want to have anything to do with her because of her face, and even when some rare courageous ones dared to speak to her Morgana just turned cold and chased them away. The slave man would reprimand her for that, but she didn’t need friends and she didn’t see why she had to make such an effort.

Morgana faintly shook her head. Mell’s sister herself didn’t matter much to her — she was only here to heal her, after all, and as long she could recover without any issue, then the rest was without importance. So she did like usual, lifting her long sleeve and starting to recite her prayer in a soft voice.

“This body was created not in a mortal womb; this flesh is not the flesh of man; this blood is not the blood of man…”

She could feel Mell’s wary gaze on her during the whole process — he was standing at the very end of the room, as if trying to stay as far away from them as possible, while she cut her scarred wrist and let blood trickle down Nellie’s lips. His presence was distracting to her — he looked at the ritual with such intense, uncomfortable emotions that it made Morgana herself uneasy. He was giving her the impression she was doing something wrong when she was just trying to save his sister’s life — and, frankly, it felt almost offensive to her.

She didn’t want to keep doing this any more than him, and she had no idea why it seemed her Father was in such a whimsical mood when it came to this girl and refused to let her heal completely but also to let her die, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She thought about asking the boy to leave the room altogether more than once, but she could never bring herself to.

Once she was finally done, Mell quickly brought her a towel with trembling hands — despite the fact she had told him a thousand times it was unnecessary, he kept doing it — and as Morgana started to slowly swab her wound, the boy suddenly let out an odd squeak.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed. “I completely forgot!”

“What is it?” Morgana inquired, although to be honest she didn’t care much about the matter now that her task was finished.

Mell bit his lip. “I… I’ve been short on money ever since… Nellie got ill, so it’s been getting harder to buy healthy food. But the other day I told my situation to the fishmonger, and he kindly proposed to give me some leftovers he’d keep for me if I could come before six in the evening…”

“I believe it is not yet that time, so you could still make it?”

“P-Probably, but…” He looked over at Nellie, then around him, and then finally at the ground, before murmuring: “Could I… Could I ask you a favor?”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. She thought about refusing — because their relationship had definitely become extremely fraught ever since she started giving blood to his sister… but at the same time, her duty as a saint tugged at her, preventing her from ignoring a person in need.

“Depends on what that is,” she finally concluded.

“I-I really need to go, but… I don’t want to leave Nellie all alone right now… Uh, would you mind keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?”

“That’s…”

“It’ll just be for an hour, at most! I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Morgana sighed. She looked back at the sleeping girl snuggled under her blanket. Certainly, it wouldn’t cost her much to stay while Mell was away and keep watch on an unconscious sick child… Even so, she still hesitated. She didn’t want to do any more service for Mell than what she was already doing, and she wanted even less to stay in his home, even for a short while. But… the boy was looking at her with pleading honey eyes, and despite herself, Morgana still found herself fond of him. Surely, an hour in this house wouldn’t cost her much.

“All right,” she surrendered.

“Oh, th-thank you very much!”

Mell smiled brightly at her — in that genuine, sweet way he hadn’t used since she had started giving blood to Nellie — and for a brief moment, Morgana’s heart skipped a beat and she hated herself for that.

It was as if, in that instance, they were back to before — before she could remember her true identity, before things turn out wrong and twisted. When she could just enjoy his presence and share small, casual conversations with him as if they were friends. As if they were two normal teenagers hanging out and having fun together.

But they weren’t, and they never were, and up until now their relationship had just been her fooling herself.

She looked away, hoping to camouflage the way she had briefly gotten flustered, but Mell didn’t even seem to notice as he was already grabbing a satchel and running towards the door.

“It’ll be very quick! I promise!”

Before Morgana could reply, the door closed brusquely and suddenly no sound resonated in the house anymore.

No sound, except for her and the fair haired girl’s breathing.

Morgana let out another sigh and ran her fingers through her red bangs. Admittedly, she now felt pretty lost as to how she should spend time for an hour. Despite having come to this place more than a dozen of times, she still didn’t feel that familiar with it, and she didn’t really felt comfortable trying to do anything in it either. This was a really modest, small house; only a few basic furniture here and there, a chimney that was soon going to be lit up in wait of the winter, a few colorful fabrics and curtains that she supposed Nellie had hang up to decorate. Richer than where she’d lived in the slums, but poorer than someone living downtown. However, while it looked like a residence any average peasant would have, a few elements were standing out; three or four pretty books posed on the table, or some sophisticated clothes and dresses dangling around that must’ve been quite expansive. Morgana remembered Mell telling her their backgrounds; about how they were originally two kids from a wealthy, noble family, and so she guessed those were things they had taken with them after getting exiled.

She slowly headed towards the table, and let her fingers run across the pages of one of the books. The paper was old, thick, and alien under her digits. Except for the few small, handmade scrapbooks detailing botanic and medicine that had belonged to the original lake witch, she never had the occasion to get her hands on such things. The words seemed to be in a language she was unfamiliar with, probably the siblings’ mother tongue. Although Morgana had never actually learned how to read, so she wasn’t really able to tell and even if it was in this country’s language it would still mean nothing to her.

“Mell…”

Suddenly, she heard a shifting of clothes from behind her and a moan, and in her surprise she almost let the book fall down on the ground. She whirled around and saw the girl in the bed move slightly, rubbing her red and irritated eyes. Morgana bit her lip nervously and held back her breath, trying to make herself as small as she could. Damn it, she hadn’t thought about the possibility of Nellie waking up while Mell was still gone. She really didn’t want to have to talk to her.

Please, just go back to sleep, she prayed quietly. Come on…

But unfortunately, her prayer went unanswered. Instead, the girl weakly lifted herself on her elbows, looked around the place with a vacant gaze… and finally stopped her eyes on Morgana’s silhouette. For a moment, none of them talked, just staring at each other in silence.

“Mell…?” Nellie murmured, her voice hoarse and painful. Her eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t see well the person in front of her, and maybe she really couldn’t.

Morgana winced, and tilted down her hood as much as possible, hoping it was enough to dissimulate her face entirely. She wasn’t great at interacting with people in general, but it felt worse with a girl around her age somehow, and even more so with Mell’s sister.

“Sorry, I’m… I’m not Mell,” she finally blurted out as the girl was still staring at her, expectantly.

It seemed it took a long time for her to understand the sentence, but finally she saw her massage her eyes again before she opened back her mouth:

“Where is he…?”

“Out. He had some shopping to do… He asked me to look after you in the meantime…”

“Who are you…?”

“I’m…”

She stopped and hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to answer — mostly because she didn’t think Nellie would be really apt to understand the truth in her current state. But in the end she didn’t have to, because the girl then added:

“Oh… Are you the saint…?”

Morgana bit her lip again, hesitated, then finally feebly nodded. Even while burning and half-awake, Nellie seemed to caught it, and surprisingly enough, she smiled.

Her smile looked so pure and bright in spite of how sick she was, just like her brother’s. Maybe even brighter.

“Mell told me… You’re the one who’s been healing me… right? With your blood… Ah…”

“Y-You should stay in bed…”

All while talking, Mell’s sister tried to stand up but Morgana rushed towards her to lay her back and put the blanket on her. Clumsily hovering over the bed, she tried to think of something to say or do, but she actually didn’t really know how to take care of someone when they were sick. If Nellie had stayed asleep, it would’ve been one thing, but now that she was awake she felt lost. She vaguely remembered the times where some of the girls at the brothel would fell ill, but… it wasn’t helping as she generally wasn’t the one watching over them, and she barely had any memories of this period anymore anyway.

“Do you, um… do you want to drink something?” She finally asked awkwardly instead.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around to seek a cup of water, but at the last moment Nellie grabbed her sleeve. Her grip was very meek, but it was enough to make Morgana stop in her momentum.

“Stay,” the blonde girl mumbled.

“But…”

“I don’t wanna be alone… Stay.”

Her voice was a wisp of glass, fragile and imploring, and her eyes were brimming with sadness and limpidity that made her appear so small, as if she was much younger than her actual age — and as she stared straight at her, Morgana realized she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She quietly sat down next to the bed, and looked down on her hands. Nellie finally let go of the sleeve once she appeared certain the other girl wouldn’t leave.

“Is that true… about the blood…?”

Morgana assumed she meant if it was true she was giving her her blood to heal, so she nodded.

“Yes.”

“That’s gross…”

“My blood is different from normal humans. It is not filthy like yours.”

“Hmmm…”

Nellie hummed absentmindedly in a way that made Morgana thought she didn’t really understand what she meant by that, and suddenly the girl’s hand raised from under the blanket and reached out towards her. At first, Morgana wasn’t really sure what she intended to do, until she flinched a little when she felt Nellie’s tiny, plump hand grab hers.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

Alien fingers ran across Morgana’s skin on her hand — softly brushing the scars and the cuts, the rough patches of mangled and ugly flesh. Her reflex at this was to want to snap her hand away — and that was what she would’ve done usually after such a breach and invasion of her boundaries.

Not even Mell had dared to touch her in such a way. He had brushed her arm two or three times; had intended to maybe hold her hand once, but in the end he never was able to gather the courage to actually do so.

(Morgana couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been too intimidated by her or because he thought her too disgusting, but either way she was glad he hadn’t.

She didn’t want to think about the warmth and comfort the embrace of someone bright and kind like Mell could bring her.)

But Nellie had no hesitation to caress her wounds and hold her hand.

For some reason, Morgana’s entire body froze under her touch, and she couldn’t do anything but look until she realized the other girl’s eyes were stuck on her, expecting an answer. She looked away away distractedly, before muttering:

“I’m used to it.”

Nellie kept staring at her for quite some time, to the point where Morgana began to wonder if she had understood what she had just said, but then finally let go of her hand and stared blankly at the ceiling. Coldness gained back her fingers and palm, normality retrieved its way. Morgana felt relieved.

Nellie closed her eyes, and stayed quiet. For a moment, Morgana hoped she was going to drift back to sleep, but unfortunately for her it wasn’t the case.

“When will Mell come back?”

“He said it shouldn’t take more than an hour, and that he’ll do as quickly as possible.”

“Oh…” She let out. Paused. “I thought he might’ve been gone for good.”

There was… something very fragile, in her voice. Like a glass fragment about to break into a hundred pieces, and somehow it made Morgana’s chest tighten. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. She didn’t want to get involved with this girl — had no need for that, would get no benefit out of it. But even so, the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Why is that?” She asked in a very soft, shy voice, as if she hoped the sick girl wouldn’t hear her.

And for an instant, she really thought she hadn’t, because Nellie didn’t answer — didn’t even move or flinch or made anything that would indicate she’d heard her. Morgana risked herself to throw a glance at her, and saw that she was simply motionless in her bed, staring at the ceiling with unfocused amber eyes. There was no expression on her round, flushed face, and something about this and her silence made Morgana uncomfortable.

“I will die, right?”

“Wh-What?”

“You… are a saint… aren’t you? So… you must know.” She turned her head towards Morgana, and plunged her eyes into hers. “I will die.”

This was not a question anymore, and Morgana’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she felt trapped by the other’s gaze. She might technically be the saint here, but it felt like it was Nellie who had just declared a prophecy. She sounded so certain that Morgana couldn’t even bring herself to try to contradict her.

“Why do you think so?”

Nellie looked away, her eyes fixing themselves on the window this time, though from where she was she doubted she could see much of the scenery.

“I don’t wanna die,” she muttered. “It’s scary. I don’t wanna die, but… It’s painful for Mell to take care of me… and the idea of him hating me because of this… is much scarier than dying.”

Morgana looked down on her knees and began to pull at the hem of her long sleeve. There was a lump in her throat, and she couldn’t tell why. The silence fell in the room again, and as she felt she ought to say something, she finally gathered her thoughts and muttered:

“If… he truly care about you…” she tried tentatively. “Then surely… he wouldn’t hate you just because he has to take care of you… You cannot help being sick.”

These words obviously didn’t convince Nellie, as it would’ve been too easy, and much to Morgana’s despair, she continued to talk.

“But this is my fault,” she hiccuped. “Mell was the one who got banned by our uncle… I could’ve stayed home. But I insisted to go with him… because… I didn’t want to be all alone… Mell is the only one… the only one who truly loves me… so I can’t live without him… that’s what I always thought, but…”

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her hands, and Morgana knew she was crying now.

“A-And I know… that he’ll hate me if he learns the truth about my feelings for him… Cause it’s wrong… And gross… And you think I’m wrong and gross, too, right…?”

“I…”

Morgana looked away, biting her lip and praying Mell could just hurry up and save her from this disaster already. She almost had the instinct to reply to Nellie she did think she was gross — what on earth was she saying, after all? She couldn’t possibly mean she had feelings that way for her brother, right? — but she managed to hold in her sharp tongue. She was certain that love for her brother truly seemed… a bit too excessive. That couldn’t be ordinary behavior for siblings, could it? It wasn’t like Morgana knew much about normal human relationships in general, but even she could feel something a bit off from what Nellie was telling her.

Wonderful. How was she supposed to deal with this? She couldn’t even deal with normal crying people in the best of circumstances. How had she ended up in such an awkward situation? Was that some twisted trial from her Father? Why was Nellie telling her all of this to start with, anyway?

Well, maybe it was because of the delirious state she was in, and the fact she was in presence of the saint who was (trying to) saving her life, was putting her at ease… But that didn’t mean it was any less unpleasant for Morgana.

Muffled sobs kept sprinkling the room. Sniffling, rubbing sounds and ragged breathing.

Morgana was not human; she couldn’t empathize with such raw emotions and painful state. She couldn’t heal them. Only watch, observe, from behind a windowpane, imagining she was much further away and not just sat next to the bed.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” the broken, barely audible voice murmured. “B-But Mell’s the only thing I have… I don’t want to be left alone.”

She wanted to pretend she couldn’t relate, that she was only there to watch — but at this a rock fell in her stomach, one too heavy to ignore anymore.

It was like a scene from a long time ago played in front of her eyes; and the child in the bed wasn’t the flaxen-haired girl, but a much younger version of herself.

An ugly little girl with red plaits who had lost everything dear to her and who was crying desperately in the middle of an abandoned shack, scared to be left all by herself. Begging to God to not be left all alone.

She couldn’t precisely understand Mell’s sister feelings or why she was crying, but that deep fear of abandonment and loneliness, she could relate. She could feel that deep in her bone and heart.

So, her saint mask be damned, not caring anymore whether or not Nellie was able to see her horrendous face, she extended her arm and, with timid fingers, gently took the sobbing girl’s hand in hers. She clutched at it awkwardly, revealing how inexperienced in this kind of human contact she was, then brushed Nellie’s smooth skin like the other had done to her earlier.

Their hands were so different in so many aspects it was almost amusing, but their sizes were practically a perfect fit.

Nellie threw a questioning glance at her, honey eyes still shimmering with tears, and Morgana fought the instinct of looking away with all she had in her body.

She couldn’t reassure Nellie that she knew her brother cared about her. She couldn’t affirm to her that she wasn’t a burden to him. She couldn’t guarantee her that she would never be left alone. After all, in the end she barely knew anything at all about these siblings.

But there was still something she felt the need to say with as much conviction as she could:

“I will not let you die.”

Nellie’s eyes widened as more tears rolled down her round, red cheeks. It was likely a conceited thing of Morgana to say. The only one able to decide whether a human was going to live or die was God. Even as His daughter, it was not her place to even just speculate of such a thing. But despite knowing this, she repeated it yet again.

“I will not let you die. My Father will make sure to save you. You can believe me.”

Nellie stared blankly at her, as if she could not register the words that were told to her. However, the next moment her features softened, her eyelids half-closed and a smile blossomed on her cracked lips. She didn’t say anything, but Morgana could read her thoughts on her face without any issue. Nellie weakly clutched her hand back, and she had no idea why seeing such a simple gesture managed to put her heart at ease or why seeing the girl’s peaceful expression relieved her, but somehow it did.

“Your voice…” Nellie muttered, slowly closing her eyes. “Your voice is really pretty…”

Morgana blinked with surprise at her, as that was the last thing she thought she’d hear at this moment. “Oh… Um…”

“Could you… sing for me?” Nellie continued. “I wanna hear you sing…”

Her brother had told her the same, Morgana noted. That she had a beautiful voice and that she should sing. In fact, multiple people had told her so in the past. She herself never found her voice all that special, though. But… she did love singing.

For a moment, she hesitated — she didn’t know if it was the pleading or the solitude in the girl’s voice that made her feel this way, or if it was the small hand clutching at her desperately as if she was afraid she’d suddenly vanish, but a surge to listen to the request crossed her.

She tentatively opened her mouth, took in a deep breath… however, at the last minute she felt unable to produce a single sound. An image from the past flashed through her mind; of an isolated, makeshift graveyard, a young man with kind eyes, a hand gently brushing her scars — and instantly her throat was dry and her tongue tied. Her body trembled a little, and she quickly did her best to bury the memory as deep she could in her heart.

She didn’t need that anymore. That warmth and kindness… She’d already thrown everything away. Or she’d had no other choice than to throw it away, rather. Either way, there was no need for her to reminisce them.

“I’m sorry,” she articulated softly, “But I won’t sing…”

However, Nellie didn’t seem in the least disappointed or disturbed, as she was quietly snoring, bundled up in her blanket. Well, given how sick she was it wasn’t a surprise she’d fall back asleep so quickly. Although her hand was still holding Morgana’s, surprisingly firmly.

Morgana had already thrown away everything. She had no need for human warmth and feelings — as she was, after all, not human. She’d made that mistake with Mell, taking complaisance in the brightness of his smile and the gentleness of his words, but she’d brutally realized how much of a mistake it had been as soon as she revealed her miracle blood and he’d turned cold on her.

So she really shouldn’t make the same mistake with the sister, or with anyone else. But, even so… watching Nellie sleep so tenderly, with a soft smile on her pink lips, made something odd and warm birth in her chest. A feeling of satisfaction — the same one she’d had when she first thought she’d healed the girl.

A feeling that… maybe, for once, she hadn’t been so completely useless. That even if she still hadn’t entirely saved her yet, she at least managed to fill in her saintly duty of helping others a little.

That was a ridiculous, childish, earthly emotion — one she knew a being like her shouldn’t let herself indulge in — but her wretched heart felt too tired to fight it right now, and against all logic she simply closed her eyes and let her mind get lulled by Nellie’s feeble breathing.

She only let go of the other girl’s hand when Mell came back with a bag filled with fishes — quickly hiding it under her sleeve, making it as if this brief slip-up of hers never happened.

With the flaxen-haired boy back, she had to return to being a saint, return to building up her walls and steel her weaknesses.

She could pretend the warmth in her hand never existed, lock it up at the same place she’d locked up her makeshift graveyard memories— and surely in two days or so, when she’ll come back to this house, it would flow away at the same time as her blood would spill from her skin.

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