Death is a Girl #Chapter 47 - Changeling - Read Death is a Girl Chapter 47 - Changeling Online - All Page

Chapter 47 - Changeling

For once, she felt peaceful, with the arms of the old Morrigan wrapped softly around her, lulling her to sleep. Actually, 'old Morrigan' wouldn't be the right way to refer to her—she was the only Morrigan. This other Morrigan she had been walking around as was just some strange piece that walked off on its own, but now they were back together.

Her soft hands ran over Morrigan’s white hair. “Don’t worry, it’s alright. You can just rest now,” she said. “Just leave everything to me. Things will be normal again soon.”

“But what about Emma?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll see her again. You just need to rest now. Once you wake up, we’ll go to the mall with all of our friends.”

Morrigan stirred, struggling to open her eyes. She was back in her room, her organized pile of clothes right where they belonged, colorful and undisturbed. Her sowing machine in the corner, her posters, and T.V.—Everything was back to normal. “I… I thought I left.”

“You did, but you’re back now. See?”

Morrigan shook the arm off and tried to sit up, only managing to prop up on one elbow, but it was enough to get a good look at Old Morrigan. Her hair was blonde, flowing around her, her eyes a deep blue, and her cheeks rosy and full of color. Right now, she was wearing a red satin dress with black lace trim over the chest piece and a black sash around her upper stomach that was completed with a black rose where it was tied off. Morrigan recognized it as one of her design ideas in one of her notebooks. She had planned on wearing something like that to prom one day. She hadn’t quite gotten the pieces together, but the design was always so clear in her mind.

“Where did you get that?” Morrigan asked.

“I made it. Don’t you like it?

“It’s beautiful but… I don’t remember making it.”

“Emma asked us to prom.”

“But…”

“Just because you left doesn’t mean I did as well. I was right here the whole time. Waiting for you to come back.”

Could that really be true?

“But that… doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“I died.”

“No, not really. We can have our old life back, and it will be better than ever!”

“But… how?”

Old Morrigan, or maybe Real Morrigan, put a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her back down. “You just need to sleep, that's all. Next time we open our eyes, it will be as one, and everything that’s happened will just be a bad dream.”

Her eyes felt too heavy to argue any further. She laid her head on Real Morrigan’s lap, closing her eyes and surrendering to the warm comfort. Real Morrigan brushed her hair, softly humming a soothing tune into her ear. Slowly, Morrigan felt herself drifting away.

When her eyes opened again, she found herself standing in a grand ballroom adorned with sparkling chandeliers overhead as elegantly dressed couples danced to an enchanting melody. Morrigan’s heart swelled with joy as she realized that it was her prom night.

She glanced down at herself and gasped in awe. She was wearing the same exquisite red satin dress that Real Morrigan had created. It hugged her figure perfectly, making her feel beautiful and confident. As she spun around, marveling at the magnificence of how it flowed around her, she noticed Emma standing nearby, wearing a blue laced dress with spaghetti straps. Emma gave that half-amused smirk of hers as she curtsied and held out a hand, inviting Morrigan over.

As Morrigan reached out to take Emma’s hand, she saw how white her own skin was in comparison. She flinched back, remembering her touch could kill. But then, blinking her eyes tight and looking at her palm, she realized it was back to a normal skin tone. It wasn’t white—she had just been imagining things.

“What’s with you?” Emma asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a dance.

Morrigan stared at their hands locked together for a moment, then smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, just nervous, I guess.”

“Well, don’t be,” Emma chuckled. “Here, just put that hand on my hip and… just sort of sway.” She smiled as they fell into rhythm amongst the other dancers. “Don’t worry, you look beautiful.”

Morrigan blushed, feeling the warmth of Emma’s hand on her waist and the closeness of her body. As they twirled around the dance floor, the music guiding their movements, Morrigan couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness flow through her. The nightmare was finally over, and she was here, in this moment, with Emma by her side.

She looked around over Emma’s shoulder, wondering who else was here. Strangely, the other dancers had no faces. Morrigan blinked in confusion, but Emma twirled, guiding Morrigan along with her, and she lost focus on the crowd. “This is kind of fun,” Emma chuckled. “Never thought we’d be doing this, huh?”

She looked into Emma’s eyes, and suddenly, she had no idea what nightmare she was supposed to be thinking of in the first place. She was always as she was now, and life couldn’t possibly be any better.

***

“Noir, calm down,” the old man said. Emma’s eyes shot back up to the old man. Morrigan had told her all about the demonic talking cat named Noir, and that meant this old man was none other than Death himself.

Hilda still held Emma back, gripping the handful of salt as if it were her single line of defense. “Hilda, I think it’s alright,” Emma said.

Death rubbed his chin, observing them. “That salt won’t work, you know. Either way, if you wish to leave, I will not pursue you. Though, I would like to know your relationship with Morrigan.”

Emma pushed past Hilda. “I’m Emma; I’m one of Morrigan’s friends from back when she was still alive… and you’re Death, right? And Noir?”

Noir let out a soft growl. “That fool must have revealed everything about us to these witches.”

“Now, now, Noir. It’s not such a problem. Besides, only one of them is a true witch.”

“Hey! I’m a witch in training!” Emma said, defending herself.

Noir flashed one of his fangs amusedly. “If that handful of salt is the best your mentor has to offer, I would suggest finding a new teacher.”

“Wanna try me, cat?” Hilda hissed at him.

“Even the strongest of your kind would be ill-matched,” Noir stated confidently as his yellow eyes pulsed with a red glow.

“Ah, I wouldn’t be so sure, Noir,” Death said with a chuckle. “Without her staff, then surely, but this one is from a long line. Isn’t that right, Miss. Hilda?”

“How can you tell?” Hilda snapped, grabbing Emma’s shoulder to pull her back again.

Death raised a hand, and as he pointed, Emma gasped because his fingers were nothing but bone. “Because that charm was crafted at least three hundred years ago. It’s been passed down through the women of your family, and after your mother’s unfortunate demise, it made its way into your hands.” Emma’s eyes came back to his face and she almost screamed because the face of the old man was gone, it was nothing more than a skull. Death was a skeleton wearing black overalls and a baseball cap! Even the shovel he held over his shoulder had now turned into a scythe.

“You bastard!” Hilda yelled at him. “What do you know about my mom?!”

“Why, I was the one to reap her soul, of course. She spoke fondly of you, she believed you’d be as great a witch as herself one day.”

Emma looked at Hilda, whose arms hung limp at her sides. The tension let up from her hands, and the salt slipped through her fingers. “Y-you… you’re saying you killed my mother?”

“I was the one to guide her towards her next journey,” Death said, a soothing tone to his voice. “That’s all.”

“Bullshit!” Hilda yelled. “My mom would have fought you tooth and nail!”

“Fortunatly, the hard part was done and over with by the time I arrived. But you are not wrong. Even as a spirit, she put up quite a struggle, as only a mage of her magnitude could.”

“I’ll kill you!” Hilda hissed at him.

“Now, I’m sure you would find that to be quite impossible,” Death chuckled. “But, after we are done here if you are not too sickened by me, I could tell you of your mother's last moments on this plane.” That seemed enough to silence any more words from Hilda, so Death turned towards the crypt. “And if you don’t mind, my dear apprentice seems to have come across quite a nasty demon. I’d like to handle this situation before it does any permanent damage.”

“I knew Morrigan was in trouble!” Emma said, nearly running for the crypt, but Death put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. Even through her shirt, his touch was so cold.

“Just a moment, Emma. I have a feeling it was fortunate that you’ve arrived here when you did, but we mustn’t be rash.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, looking over her shoulder.

“The type of demon I’m sensing is particularly difficult to handle, especially if you wish to preserve the soul it has attached itself to.”

“It… attached itself to her?” Emma asked.

“It is called a changeling, and if Hilda would like to explain, I’m sure she is more than capable.”

Emma looked to her cousin for an explanation, but Hilda’s face had turned white. She looked more terrified than Emma thought ever possible from her cool, confident older cousin. “Hilda… whats…”

“You’re lying,” Hilda said, locking her eyes with Death. “First, you talk about my mom, and now you’re bringing this up!? You’re screwing with me!”

“Now, why would I do that?” Death asked.

“You’re telling me that thing is back.”

“It’s not the same one, of course. The one who took your parents from you died along with them.”

Emma gasped and looked at Hilda. She knew that Hilda was orphaned when she was just nine years old, but Emma had been told it was a car accident. Hilda then lived with her grandma until she died, but then became a troubled teen, jumping from relative to relative who were unable to deal with her until she eventually ended up being sent to a reform school. Emma was always excited about the rare chances she got to see her, though. But… what Death had just said completely conflicted with what Emma thought had happened. “Hilda… what’s he talking about?”

Hilda gritted her teeth. “A changeling devours its victim and in doing so it learns everything that it can about them, and then assumes their identity.”

“But what does that have to do with Aunt Claire!?” Emma asked.

Hilda’s fist tensed. “I’ll tell you about it later… right now, we have to get out of here.”

“But what about Morrigan?”

Hilda pointed at Death. “This asshole can deal with his own apprentice!”

“If you could just wait a moment,” Death began. “I would request that the two of you stay for now. As I said, it was as stroke of good fortune you’ve arrived when you did.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“You see, the thing about changelings is, the assumption of their victim's identities is so complete that they themselves come to believe that they are their victims. Furthermore, as their consumption completes, their desire to find a new host often intermingles with the desires of their victim. Most typically, this relates to feelings of attachment their victims had for other humans.”

Emma nodded, taking in the reaper’s words, wondering what he was getting at.

“Luckily,” Death continued. “I’ve learned over the centuries that sometimes the only solution is to offer it what it wants. In this case, Emma, I believe that would be you.”

“What? Me?”

“What are you talking about Reaper?” Hilda growled. “We’re not putting my cousin in any danger!”

“Now, now, calm yourself,” Death said, waving a hand complacently. “Tell me Miss. Emma, what are your feelings for Morrigan?”

“My feelings!?” Emma blushed, frazzled by the unexpected question. “I-I mean, she’s my friend.”

“Yes, but what kind of friend?”

“Well, I mean, I always thought she was cool, and I always wanted to get close to her. But she was so aloof.”

“I’ll bet she cares very much for you, Miss. Emma. When I first saw you interact at the mall, I could tell. She became rather homesick for her old life afterward as well. Then, after running from my cabin, she went to you. So, I suspect that's ample evidence that my theory is correct.”

“Well, she went to Wyoming first!” Emma snapped.

“Really? That far?” he turned his head, then chuckled. “Ah, but that was running. When she was done running, she came back to you, did she not?”

“I-I guess so?”

“Well, in any case, the changeling has formed a bond with Morrigan. It now believes itself to be her. Still, their instincts are such that their desires get twisted into a compulsion to consume. Therefore, to sever its connection to Morrigan, we must offer it something it wants. Right now, that would be you.”