The Flower Princess and the Alchemist @bloodpokemon101
Florence Nightingale Syndrome

(A/N: Here's chapter fifty two.

Simply Christian: Thanks for the review! There could have been a confession during the seventeen month long time skip? Yeah, I
get your point. From an anime standpoint, I totally get that there should have been a confession and Ichigo and Orihime should already be dating before the Thousand Year War Blood arc. But, from a realistic standpoint, I can also see why not. Why confessing at that time would be horrible, and potentially lead to bad consequences before things might start to get good. I mean, think about it... These are all just young teenagers who have just got done with a war. By that point [or perhaps, earlier], Ichigo, Orihime, and all their friends were essentially child soldiers in all but name. Child soldiers with supernatural powers. Do you really think anyone would be mentally sound enough to start dating, especially when they have to deal with the aftermath of war. Deal with the trauma, blood, carnage, loss, hopelessness, sorrow, pain, and death that war brings to people? Especially Orihime, who had been put through the wringer throughout most of the ordeal? I don't think so. I feel like...dating...while recovering from the trauma of war...is just a disaster waiting to happen. Though, this is just my own opinion. Take it however you like. Actually, there was a time before that where Orihime told Ed and Al that her powers derives from the strength of her soul. Or something along those lines. But, other than that, she hasn't told them anything else. She hasn't told them what her powers does, the strengths, weaknesses, and limitations of her powers, or the fact that her powers can freaking bring the recently deceased back to life [or have the strongly implied potential of erasing someone from existence, if Orihime had the hatred, malice, and killer instinct to do it]! In other words, they don't know that she's basically a reality warper. So, as far as the Elric brothers are considered, they just think Orihime's powers are some type of...Equivalent Exchange. A different kind of alchemy from Amestris' alchemy or Xing's alkhahestry. At least, that's how I try to infer it. You are right is that Aizen is a damn right irremediable monster. I feel that way too. I'm just saying that's how the light novels tries to portray him and the true motives for all the evil acts he committed. Going as far as showcasing some characters sympathizing, and, more outrageously, agreeing with him and his actions after finding out. Honestly, I completely forget about Chizuru, too. Until I started rewatching Bleach for the fifth or sixth [yes, filler arcs included], and began asking myself 'hey, what happened to the red haired lesbian that always tries to flirt with Orihime?' when the Fullbringer arc took its turn. The events of what might have happened to her after the Deicide arc is my own interpretation I mean, doesn't show up in the epilogue or any of the light novels [not that I can recall], and she isn't confirmed dead. So, I guessed/assumed that Chizuru was alive, but skipped town and moved away. Away from all the scary weirdness happening in Karakura Town. Although, this is also my head canon. Whether it's actually true or not, I don't particularly care. After the first arc, Chizuru became completely irrelevant to me and the story [except in some fillers, story wise] Well, you can't really blame for pushing Ed and Al away. Especially when she still haunted by all that's happened when she was being held captive in Hueco Mundo. When she witnessed Ichigo's brutal near death. When she's suffering grom survivor's guilt. In her mind, pushing the Elric brothers away is a way to protect them and herself. The fewer enemies that uses them as leverage against her, to break her emotionally, the better. Plus, I don't think Orihime ever saw that lesson Ichigo learned. At least, I don't recall. Unless, you are speaking
theoretically.

TheEmeraldMage: Thanks for the review! Yeah, I'm really trying to get into the broken mind of a young, teenage girl. I'm really sad and disappointed that none of Orihime's issues was never addressed after the time skip. I agree with on the inherent wrongness of that shone trope. And it becomes sadder in hindsight when young, impressionable watch that trope, and take it to heart. Take it too seriously. 'Oh, you're sad and depressed about life? Well, just punch the first thing you see and feel better.' How very sad and disconcerting life lesson to say to people. I'm trying work more on Orihime and Gracia's relationship. After all, the poor girl never had a mother figure in her life before. She had a big sister figure in Tatsuki, but never a mother figure. I'm trying to see how that goes.

Thanks to everyone else who has reviewed, faved, and followed the story so far. And enjoy!)


Florence Nightingale Syndrome

Nina has long since arrived at the park. She has been sitting on a wooden bench for, to the screwed time perception of a young child bored out of their minds, hours. In reality, it's probably only been twenty or thirty minutes since she showed up at the park, of course.

"Maybe he isn't coming?" she thought, sadly. As minutes ticked by, she was beginning to feel more and more discouraged. She was hoping, dearly to see him again. She wanted to watch more of his magic water show.

She kicked her feet back and forth, sighing, disappointedly. And the sounds of happy giggles and laughter didn't help either. Truthfully, she did want to go out there and play with the other kids. But she was worried that she might miss him because she was too distracted by playing. She had to mentally encourage herself to remain focused on her goal. Not to mention the fact that the boy's magic bubble show sounded way more interesting and exciting right now. Plus, there were many questions she wanted to ask because she did not get to last time.

Bis Sis Ori has been feeling awfully sad lately. She was just a little kid. She wasn't good with complicated 'grown up' problems. It's just hard seeing her big sister so depressed. She wondered for days on what she could do to cheer her up. She wished big sis would cheer up soon. She just wanted her to be happy again.

She recalled earlier at how dejected Orihime was when Winry placed that embarrassing magazine on the table. She tried to hide her distress behind a fake, cheerful smile. She could sense how agitated and discomforted her presence felt. Her usual warm, sunny aura was blanketed by a cloudy disposition. She couldn't fully explain, nor understand why she knew or what she was 'sensing' from Big Sis Ori. It's just what she felt. The normally bright and warm feeling she would always sense from the auburn haired healer wasn't so bright and warm.

She sighed, dishearteningly once again.

If only… If only she could lift some of the burden off her shoulders, then Big Sis Ori wouldn't have to go through all this pain and torment. Why does big sis have to go through all this suffering and turmoil, and when she's the one protecting oblivious people from monsters and sometimes getting hurt because of it?

The brown haired girl was snapped out of her glum musings, and perked up, slightly when she heard a bouncy ball coming her way. It rolled until it hit the metal leg of the bench she was sitting at. She picked up the ball, and her blue eyes glanced around, curiously, trying to figure out who this ball belonged to. They were a group of kids of varying ages gazing back at her, intently, inquisitively wondering to themselves what she's going to do with their ball.

Nina smiled, sweetly, and threw the ball at the group of children. They beamed, happily as their ball came bouncing back towards them. One boy grabbed the ball, and gestured for his friends to resume playing. However, a very young girl with her short, black hair tied into a ponytail with a blue ribbon didn't follow after the other kids.

She was slightly surprised when the girl started walking up to her. She had already placed herself back on the bench prior, and her fingers played with the end of the blue skirt of her dress in anticipation. It wasn't long before the unknown girl was standing inches in front of her. For a few moments, there was an awkward silence that exuded between the two of them. This caused Nina's nervousness to increase. The girl was the first to break the silence.

"Can I sit next to you?" she asked, tentatively.

The pigtailed girl nodded, diffidently scooting over, slightly to make room for the new girl. The other girl happily took a seat in the empty space next to her.

"Thanks," the black haired girl said.

Now that Nina got a better look at her, she seemed to be about her age. She had pretty, fair skin and light brown eyes that reminded her of sweet caramel. Her cheeks were littered with freckles, giving her a more childlike appearance. Even though she already is a child. She wore a simple yellow skirt that had a white lining along the hem, and a long sleeve, buttoned down, red blouse that had spots of small white circles all around. On her feet she adorned plain and basic, white shoes. Excellent for running around, playing and rough housing.

"My name is Tammy," the black haired girl introduced herself, eagerly. The usual awkwardness of two strangers meeting for the first time, let alone kids, seemed to have disappeared somewhat revealing a very perky and bubbly, young child underneath. "What's yours?"

"I'm Nina," Nina replied with almost equal cheeriness, feeling herself relaxing a bit. The dissipating gawky ambience made room for a more easygoing, comfortable atmosphere.

"Why are you here all alone?" the girl, now identified as Tammy, asked, curiously.

"I'm waiting for someone," the pigtailed responded, honestly.

Tammy tilted her head, slightly out of inquisition. "Waiting for someone? For who?"

The blue eyed girl pursed her lips and furrowed her brows in an unsure manner. "I'm not...sure. I never got his name."

Now the other girl seemed even more confused. "Why are you waiting for someone you don't even know?" She wasn't asking to be mean or haughty. She was genuinely curious. Not many people, especially kids, would be waiting for a complete stranger, after all. "Isn't that kind of…dangerous? After all, you don't know who this person is, or what they are like. There's a chance they could end up tricking you, or do bad things to you." She kicked her legs back and forth, idly, her light brown eyes gazing up at the clear sky, ingeniously. "At least, that's what my parents say. They said that there are a lot of bad people in the world, and if I don't know them or haven't heard anything good about them, don't talk or interact with them. Stranger danger I think is what they call it." Her orbs shifted back on Nina. "Don't your parents warn you of the same thing?" she questioned, innocently.

Nina's face scrunched up in sadness. "I don't have any," she admitted, downheartedly.

Tammy gaped in shock and bewilderment. "You don't have a mom or dad?!" she exclaimed, stunned beyond belief. "Everyone I know has parents! How come you don't?"

She was unwilling to unveil the tragedy that befall her family to someone she just met several minutes ago. "It's...complicated," she said, simply, a wry smile plastered on her countenance.

A black brow quirked in confusion. "Complicated? How?"

The brown haired girl was starting to realize how invasive the other girl was. She means well of course, but she was asking a lot of...intrusive questions. Even though her underdeveloped brain could understand being curious about something, the girl next to her was way too interested and concerned about her private life. And they just met! She guessed this is what they called being curious as a monkey.

"I don't want to talk about it," she expressed, showing her slight discomfort with the topic. She wondered if this is how Big Brother Ed and Big Brother Al feel whenever someone is asking about their bodies? Or when Big Sis Ori has to keep those tragic monsters a secret from everyone?

"Why did you stop playing with your friends, and sit with me, Tammy?" Nina questioned, redirecting the topic into something less…personal.

The black haired hummed, thoughtfully to herself. "Well, I was getting kind of tired. And I've noticed that you've been sitting in the same spot for hours. So, I decided to come over and say hi since it seems pretty lonely to be sitting here all by yourself while everyone is playing," she answered, honestly.

Nina bobbed her head a little, oddly comprehending what she was saying. It seemed to be a pretty reasonable elucidation. She probably did appear to be lonely and friendless seated here all by her lonesome, observing everyone else playing and having fun. It's not hard to apprehend why Tammy came to that conclusion.

"Tammy!" The two little girls perked up at the sound of a childish, girlish voice calling the black haired child's name. Their attention was drawn towards another girl, who's hair was pulled back by a large, pink ribbon. "What are you doing over there? C'mon and play with us!"

Tammy cupped her hands around her mouth as she loudly replied back. "Be right there!" She climbed off the bench, and turned to face Nina again with a beaming smile. "Come play with us, Nina!" she beckoned her, gently grabbing her arm to pull her along.

At first, Nina refused to budge, contemplating, deeply, if she could play with Tammy and her friends or not. She doesn't dislike the idea of playing, but she worried about missing the mysterious boy while she enjoyed herself because she was not paying attention. It was that restless problem of uncertainty she had that kept her from participating in what appeared in what looked to be such a fun activity.

Although, then again, he hasn't shown up at all yet. Was letting herself be controlled from having fun by a naive, wishful hope really such a good idea? She doesn't even know if the boy would end up coming. And now that she pondered about it, wouldn't it seem a little weird to other people, if they continued to see a little girl sitting here alone for hours? People might mistake her for a lost child!

Maybe… Maybe...it wouldn't be a bad idea to play with Tammy and her friends. Indulge her a little. She'll just have to keep a sharper eye out for the black haired boy she met yesterday, and not to get too distracted to prevent that.

Finally, Nina smiled, kindly at the girl. "Sure! I'll play with you, Tammy!"

Tammy, now radiating with happiness, cheered and excitedly dragged the pigtailed along to where her friends were kicking the ball around.

As she was being dragged, she merrily thought that perhaps indulging in some fun wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, at her core, she was still a child.


Orihime was in the bathroom once again washing her face. She couldn't believe she broke down like that in front of Ms. Gracia! Again! How awful! Not only that, but she laid out one of her biggest insecurities to the brown haired woman.

She sighed, dejectedly. Could things get any worse? She wanted Edward to view her as an ideal girlfriend material, yet, time after time after time, she was failing, horribly. She truly couldn't bear the idea of someone she cares about regard her as a disgraceful disappointment. If she could not keep it together in front of the brunette matriarch, what makes her believe she could do it in front of Ed? She sincerely wished to stop showing her weak, fragile side in front of him. Why can't she do that?

Sighing once more, the auburn haired gingerly wiped her semi wet face with a fresh, small towel. She stared at herself in the mirror, grimacing at how red and puffy her eyes had become from all her pathetic sobbing. She was worried about Ms. Gracia telling the blond haired alchemist about this. The view of her countenance only reminded her that still needed practice. She was not quite ready to be Ed's girlfriend, if she was going to be so easily reduced to a sobbing wreck at a flip of switch. She desperately needed more knowledge and to try much, much, much harder. To steel her resolve until it becomes harder than diamond.

Yet, that was easier said than done. The slight, unconscious tremors of her hands revealed that she was still scared. The incident of events that happened today was, nevertheless, affecting her. She can't help but think, what would she do when she has to hold Edward's hands? Because girlfriends and boyfriends do that, right? They hold hands. Having said that, she wanted to, at least, try!

Because… Because… If she doesn't, how would she be able to be the perfect girlfriend? If she can't perform something as uncomplicatedly simple yet innocently intimate as holding hands with her potential boyfriend, how could she ever hope to be a suitable girlfriend for Ed?

All the auburn haired girl wanted was to stop showing Edward her weak, broken side. That's all she wanted. And yet… And yet...she keeps failing every time. Why?!

The healer hurriedly wiped away a harrowing stray tear that was threatening to fall down her left cheek. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but this was yet another attestation that she was not ready to pursue a potential romantic relationship with her blond haired companion. She still had much to learn and practice before she could ever dream of becoming anyone's girlfriend. She will learn. She has to learn. It was merely in her best interest to take things very slowly, one step at a time, otherwise, she'd risk emotionally collapsing again.

But right now… Right now…she'd doubted she'd be ready to return back to the hotel tonight. She was not ready to face Edward. She can't let him see how much of a horribly broken mess she is! She just can't!

Orihime decided it was time for her to leave the bathroom. She doesn't want to worry Ms. Gracia anymore than she has to. An awful feeling crawled, creepily into the pit of her stomach at how much worry she caused the brown haired woman to experience already. She hated making people worry, unnecessarily about her.

Her faintly shaky hand gripped the door knob, tightly. Perhaps, a little too tightly. She twisted the knob, but not yet opened it.

She would just have to show that she was alright now. She was doing better now.

She pulled the door back towards her, causing it to open inward. She took a moment to thoroughly collect herself as much as possible.

She was…fine.


Dark green eyes gradually slid up, and they were greeted by an unfamiliar sight. White. White welcomed him everywhere. It was near indiscernible to make out anything else.

"Where am I?" was the first query that came to Morgan's mind when he regained consciousness. The first thing he was greeted with was the smell of chloroform and disinfectant. He glanced around, and inspected, somewhat dazedly at the room he was in. His initial guess seemed to be kind of accurate. He appeared to be in what he assumed was a hospital, going by the odor permeating the place. And, as expected of a patient's room in a hospital, there wasn't much in it. The walls and tiled floor were an eggshell white color. There was a beige white, small drawer with a white desk lamp placed on top of it on the left side of the bed. There was an alabaster white table next to the bed. On the right was the window that had white curtains, which were opened, so he could have a clear view of the outside world. Even the bed he was laying in was an ordinary single bed with metal white bed frames. There were two simple, white chairs in the room, and that was pretty much it for decor. Well, besides all the first aid medical supplies, equipment, and instruments decorating the area.

He tried to sit up, only for him to grunt in pain he attempted to do so. Aches of agony shot through his body, mainly coming from his right arm and back. Despite that, he pushed through the throbbing affliction, so that could sit up all the way. He took the time to examine his body, and realized his upper right arm and most of his chest were wrapped up in bandages.

"How did I get here? What happened?" he pondered, bemused. He racked his brain, trying to remember what happened before he lost consciousness. Last he recalled was battling a particularly tricky Hollow. He ended up gasping, fully comprehending what had transpired. The notion caused him to click his teeth in aggravation and annoyance at being caught off guard like that.

Yeah, he recollected what had occurred before he passed out.

The battle was rough because he was battling a Hollow with an unusual ability. It had the ability to completely mask its presence! It could conceal its scent, its spiritual pressure, its visibility, everything. It used its skill of camouflage to obscure itself from the blond haired mod soul's vision perfectly, and managed to land a mortal sneak attack on him. Fortunately, he succeeded in finishing it off, thanks to his reflexes being quicker than the Hollow's invisibility technique. Plus, the adroitness had a weakness. Just because the Hollow was invisible doesn't mean it was intangible. Meaning it still be touched, despite it appearing unnoticeable.

Still though, what a freaking annoying ability to have. He never would've believed he would be done in by a mere Hollow. That has to be one of the biggest blunders of his life. Who would have foresaw that he'd die such a pathetic death?

At least, that is what Morgan believed the minute he passed out from blood loss, the pain from his injuries, and fading adrenaline rush.

His dark green orbs widened a bit in surprise. This must mean someone had already tended to his wounds. But who?

It seemed that very soon his questions would be answered when the door quietly creaked open, and a rich, savory aroma wafted into the room. In stepped a very young woman with ivory white skin. She had medium length, blonde hair that reached just below her shoulders and curled at the end. She was of average height and build. Perhaps, standing at five foot two or five foot three. She was not the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on. On the contrary, far from the drop dead gorgeous type. She had too much of an unprepossessing impression on her. She was pretty, but in a homely sense. She had a slender figure, and wore an elbow length sleeved, white button up shirt, a long, green pleated skirt that reached just before her shins, and white, strappy, flat sandals.

In spite of all that, in spite of her decently attractive, plain looking features, her ultramarine blue eyes were simply...beautiful. They sparkled similarly to depths of the deep, blue sea. The way they shimmered was reminiscent of the sun sets reflecting along the ocean waters, creating tiny, glistening pools of light that resembled twinkling diamonds. The tender gentleness and brightly lit kindness in them was picturesque of the pleasantly reposeful waves softly caressing against the flat surface of the rocky shore.

This was...the very first time Morgan's ever been left utterly dumbstruck. He'd flirted, dated, kissed, and bedded many women before, but none of them had ever managed to take his breath away! Not nearly enough. And not this quick.

"Ah! I see you're awake! Good!" the woman said, beaming with ease. Even her voice sounded delightfully sweet like honey. It was heavenly divine. She seemed incredibly to discover that he had regained consciousness.

Registering that he'd been staring, mindlessly at the woman like a complete fool, the blond haired mod soul snapped out of his gobsmacked stupor. After the awe inspiring astoundment wore off, Morgan was left with an irritating wave of vexation flooding within him. First, he was almost killed by a pathetic Hollow? Now, he was saved by a worthless human? What utter humiliation has he suffered!

Nevertheless, the blond haired man disregarded his prickling ire and bitter discontent to force a smile on his face. "Are you the one who saved me?" he asked, despite how much the question generated a sharp rancorous taste in his mouth.

She placed the bowl of rice and stew she was holding down on the table along with the glass of water. "I'm not the one who healed your injuries, mister, but I am the one who brought you to this clinic," the blonde woman clarified.

"A clinic?" So, his initial assumption that he was in some kind of hospital proved to be correct.

She took a seat on the nearby chair. "Yeah, I found you in the forest outside of town," she explained. "You've been out for several days."

Now, he was even more peeved off at himself for not having enough strength to drag his half dead body into town before being knocked out cold by his injuries.

Noticing his grimace, a frown took shape on her countenance. "You were lucky to survive such serious injuries. If you don't mind me asking, how did you sustain such horrible wounds anyway?"

Morgan opened and closed his mouth several times, wondering if he should tell her to mind her own business. "I dropped my guard. That's all," he responded, voice slightly dripping with anger at being reminded of the humiliation.

She tilted her head in confusion. "Dropped your guard? Were you in a rough fight with a wild beast of something?! That's crazy!" she shouted, horrified.

He scoffed. "Not like a kid like you would understand."

She huffed, angrily at that remark. "A kid? I happen to be twenty years old."

He quirked a surprised, blond eyebrow at that little detail. "Really?" His dark green gaze roamed the woman once more. Heh, he never had suspected that she was already twenty years of age. She appeared to be more in her late teens. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. If she already was an adult, then this is even more of a downer. He was going to have to cross off more points on beauty. He had the postulation that her looks hadn't fully developed yet.

Well, it was not uncommon for people to still be growing into their looks. After all, puberty is not kind to everyone. Some people…develop slower than others. Let's hope that's true in her case. Or else, he definitely would not want to sleep with her. Call him a shallow, vain man, but he had his own standards. He would only go after magnificently good looking, sensually alluring women. Women who are considered more of his time. Plain as day. That's all there is to it. He only loved women for their super hot, sexually appealing bodies. At least, for the female partners he had slept with anyway.

Probably explains why most of the women he's had a one night fling with have been prostitutes. He does spend large amounts of time at brothels and the red light districts of towns. But that is not the issue! His erotic conquests doesn't matter.

"Huh, I never would have guessed," Morgan said, slightly confounded.

She pouted, clearly offended by that nonchalant comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

It was that the blond haired man remembered something important. He frantically twisted and turned his head and body every which way searching for it. "Where is it? Where is it?" he yelled, agitatedly, only to wince and grunt in pain at the strain he was causing his body by his panic stricken movements.

The woman gasped, rightfully worried and shocked, hurriedly climbing out of her chair, almost knocking it over in the process. She reached out, and held his shoulders, steadying him and preventing him from hurting himself further. "Stop! You shouldn't move around so much!" she warned him, concerned. "Your injuries haven't healed yet!"

"Who gives a fuck?! Where is it?!" he snapped, holding his wounded side. "Where's my sword?!"

"Sword?" she muttered, uncertain.

"Yes, my sword!" he hissed, impatiently. "Where. Is. It?"

"Well, I remember you had one when I found you on the outskirts of town, but…"

Dark green orbs narrowed at her. "But?"

"They don't allow weapons in this small hospital, so they confiscated it," she answered, softly. Before she could blink, she was harshly yanked forward, generating a startled yelp as she was suddenly at a dangerously close proximity with the blond guy, their noses nearly touching. His eyes were flashing with furious rage, which were now scaring her a little.

Morgan snarled. "What the hell do you mean they confiscated it? They took my sword?!"

She flinched at his rough, increased tone. "It's a policy here. There are no weapons allowed. Period. What would happen if we had patients and visitors running around the halls with guns and knives?" she tried to reason with the enraged man, her voice coming out slightly small and meek. "This is a small town. I heard that in the past this town used to be caught in the middle of a lot of skirmishes. So, that rule was put in place for the safety of people being treated."

"I don't give a shit about your fucking rule. Bring me my sword!" he growled.

"I don't know where they keep their patients' belongings," she shouted, indignantly, getting rather annoyed at the guy's yelling. "Maybe one of the staff would give it back to you once you're relatively fully healed and dismissed from the clinic." She forcibly snatched the blond haired man's hand away from the white collar of her shirt. "Now, calm down, or you'll reopen your wounds!"

Morgan glared at her, however, she didn't flinch or waver under his intense glower, and merely glared back just as fiercely.

"Well, I better have my sword back by the time I get out of here, or there's going to be hell to pay," he conceded, relaxing a bit, but still fully on guard. "What's that?" Morgan craned his head towards where the food was.

The woman perked up at the reminder. "This is the food I brought you." She handed the plate of rice over to him, which he kindly took. "It's rice and beef stew. I hope you like it."

The blond haired man didn't offer a reply. He carefully held the spoon, and scooped up a spoonful of the rice and stew. He popped it in his mouth and chewed, slowly.

The woman stared with bated breath, waiting, anxiously, on what his opinion on her cooking would be. When he casually swallowed and lazily took another bite, she exhaled a silent breath of relief. Guess, he liked the rice. For some reason, that kind of made her happy.

"Oh, hey." Her cheerful voice drew his attention back on her. "I've never gotten your name."

"Morgan Crez," he responded, nonchalantly, finally introducing himself to the woman who apparently saved his life. "And you?"

She smiled, sweetly. "My name's Esme Lyre. Despite the rocky start, it's a pleasure to meet you, Morgan."

Something about the melodious way his name sounded sent enraptured shivers down his spine. It was oddly fascinating to hear his name come out so wondrous from her lips.

What contradictory mess has he landed himself in? She was by far the less physically attractive woman who has ever enticed him. Hmm, he should rephrase that and reiterate once again. She wasn't ugly. Far from it. She just wasn't...first rate model level gorgeous. The kind of woman people see in fashion magazines.

But her charmingly soft, stunningly alluring voice sounded like the chorus of a dozen angels. It was truly a...magnificent splendor to listen to.

Morgan had truly found himself in a captivatingly awful mess.


The irresistibly alluring sound of titillatingly feminine moaning could be heard coming from one the locked stalls of an empty bathroom. Morgan had the hotel receptionist held captive between his embrace and the stall door. Her bewitchingly sultry cries of pleasure that were emitting from her wonderful lips were music to his ears as he peppered kisses up and down the enticing skin of her ivory pale neck. His rough hands were refusing to remain idle, and were touching, groping, and caressing her everywhere.

The brunette's ample cleavage was pressed up close to his broad, slender shoulders and lean, chiseled chest as her back was half way arched against him. The buttons on her sleeveless, red vest were completely undone while the top half of her long sleeved white dress shirt were partially unbuttoned, leaving her naked chest exposed. The only thing preventing her from showing more skin was her lacy red underwear. She ached and quivered at his agonizingly pleasurable touches. Her red heels clicked upon the gray, tiled bathroom floor. It was pretty hard for her to move, given the fact that not only was she trapped by this strong, handsome, and attractive blond haired man, but her lacy underwear was down around her ankles, further constricting her movements.

The brown haired receptionist was clearly aware of the notion that if her boss...if any of her coworkers saw her in such an...obscene compromising position… Performing an indecent act of salacious gratification...in the girl's bathroom no less… And during work hours, regardless, of this being her hour long lunch break… She would be fired on the spot! She acutely recognized that this was inappropriate workplace behavior, and that she could've waited until after her shift.

However, it was getting rather more and more difficult to care about those…trivial matters. Not when she was all hot and bothered. Plus, the simple rumination of getting caught merely excited her more. It reminded her of the time he banged her right on top of the receptionist's desk. That was fucking hot!

She heard the anticipating sound of something being unzipped. With half lidded, brown eyes, she glanced downwards to view the tantalizing sight of the sexy man's pants being undone. It didn't quite pull them off or down, but purely unzipped it. The receptionist licked her lips, seductively, offering the man a quick, sloppy, lustful kiss before swiftly dropping down to her knees, fully knowing the tasty treat that awaited her.

While the woman was evidently enjoying herself, nevertheless, to Morgan, this was nothing more than mindless rutting. Lately, he's been haunted by memories of her, and he desperately needed some release. Every woman had always, always paled in comparison when it came to her. He could never achieve that same level of spark, that same level of blissful happiness or sublime content, no matter how many loose broads he had carnal relationships with.

Nowhere near close.

It was never close!

No woman could ever match or compare to her level of charm and beauty!

That was an absolute fact!

She was in a class all on her own!

Morgan's relationship with Esme had a rocky beginning. They could hardly stand being near one another for more than five minutes. They would constantly get under each other's skins. All he could perceive was how overbearing, annoying, and noisy Esme was. Though frankly, it was based on his own biased judgment. After all, he really didn't have a high opinion of humans.

Looking back on it, it was quite amusing. He could never forget how lovely her ultramarine blue eyes looked when angered. The reminder of it aroused him more. They were always so beautiful like the reflection of the enchantingly glowing moon on the surface of the artistic sea.

Being Central… In this godforsaken city had irritated him to no end. This city, for no discernable reason, greatly rubbed him the wrong way. Like it was throwing salt on his wounds, painfully reminding him of his greatest failure. His failure to protect her.


Morgan had later discovered that he was in a rustic, small town called Rismoro. Seeing as how it was a largely unpopulated town, it makes almost perfect sense for the hospital to be tiny compared to the usual normal sized hospitals. Nearly everyday that same damn woman would come visit him and annoy him. She was virtually troublesome to get rid of.

Well, at least, she knows how to cook. That was one good thing she had going for her. Perhaps, the only thing she has going for her. Guess, the mod soul could be generous and give her points for being a decent chef. All things considered, there may be a feasible method for her to capture a husband, after all.

When he made that comment, he was met with an unfortunate series of angry glares, displeased scowls, and indignant yelling followed by 'insensitive, inconsiderate, ungrateful jerk' or something along those lines. He doesn't know. He wasn't paying attention.

Nonetheless, that never deterred her from visiting him, chatting with him, and feeding him her cooking. At first, it baffled him. If she was doing it in a feeble effort to earn a sense of gratitude from him, then she is surely mistaken. It was her decision to help him by dragging him to the nearest medical care for emergency treatment. It was her decision to save his life. He had never asked, requested, or, god forbid, begged her to. Consequently, he has nothing to be thankful for.

Their little chit chats were nothing more than idle chatter, which were one sided for the most part. Esme babbled to him about what her family and friends were like, and what it was like to have lived and grown up in Rismoro. Unfortunately for her, most of her friends have moved away after finishing school. The only reason she hasn't left was because her family aren't exactly...financially stable or well off. Oh, they have just a teensy bit little more than enough to get by with necessary essentials, but that's about it. She voiced her concern about leaving this town without finding a better home for her parents in the process.

After hearing that revelation, the blond haired mod soul was briefly stupefied for two reasons. One, why was she so willing to open up to him with her problems when they barely know each other? Is she guilelessly stupid or foolishly naive? And two, why waste money on him when she was in a tight spot financially already?

"Why are you telling me all this?" Morgan asked, expressing his skepticism.

"Huh?" was Esme's utterly confused reply.

He resisted the urge to groan, sighing, exasperatedly, via his nose. "Why are you wasting your money on me? Why are you talking to me like we're friends? I didn't ask to hear your life's story," he sneered, quite rudely a neutral observer might add.

"We are friends," the blonde haired man stated, matter of factly, seemingly ignoring his vicious snark. "And why am I wasting my money on you? Um, I can't exactly leave you to die, can I?"

He sputtered, almost choking on his vegetable soup. "Just mind your business! And since when are we friends?!" he spat, aggressively appalled.

"Since our little idle conversations," she happily declared, smiling like a complete idiot.

He scowled, terribly displeased by the notion. "I never agreed to be your friend."

"Well, we are," she responded, simply as if talking to a petulant child.

Regrettably, the blond haired mod soul was in the middle of reading a book. To pass the time, and stave off his boredom, obviously. It's been six days already since he awoke in this small clinic. When are they going to let him out? He sincerely wished a hot, sexy woman would visit him, at least.

Yeah, right. Like a complete stranger would pay him an unexpected visit for the specific purpose of jumping him. But a man can dream, right? He hadn't felt the naked, fleshy warmth of a woman in a considerably long time. Granted, it has only been two weeks, but that's still a significantly long time in Morgan's standards.

There was Esme Lyre. However, she does not count due to not being his type as he had vehemently mentioned many times before. She was simply a pest who refuses to acknowledge when she's unwelcomed.

God, he was so bored! All he has been doing lately was read the books Esme would often give him when she drops by to see him. Although, her iane prattling had become a lot more tolerable as of late. Frankly, it seemed to be the only thing worth looking forward to at this point as begrudging as it is.

The blonde haired woman did make a point of inquiring his age. That he had to contemplate due to his...circumstances. In the end, Morgan opted to declare he was twenty five for simplicity's sake. He was a mod soul. An artificial soul placed into the body of a once deceased human being. His body would age while his soul would not. Albeit, that isn't entirely true. To be completely honest, his soul would age...just at a much slower rate than his body. Taking into consideration that Soul Reapers and Hollows could live for centuries, there's potential for mod souls to be just as long lived as while, given that they do not die of external causes. When the time comes, he would just have to transfer his artificial soul pill, his true body, into another dead, hopefully young, body and borrow it for some time.

Watching the world go by outside his window has become rather tedious to the blond haired mod soul. He was rather envious of people continuing their leisurely lives, meanwhile, he's rotting away in a hospital, dying of an ennui routine. Just watching the occasional sight of children playing, adults passing by to their destination as they chatted together, birds freely flying overhead, and nature swaying along with the times made Morgan incredibly antsy.

A few days later, Esme came by with a bright smile, happily tugging along a wheelchair, much to Morgan's chagrin. His dark green orbs narrowed, suspiciously at the mobility aid apparatus. She better not be thinking what he thinks she's thinking.

"What?" he questioned, churlishly.

She frowned. "That's it? 'What'? Not a 'hi' or 'good afternoon', Morgan?" She snorted as if somewhat amused by his insolently ill mannered disposition. "Not that I expect anything less."

The blonde haired woman lightly pushed the wheelchair back and forth, the wheels scraping against the eggshell white, tiled floor, drawing his attention back on it. His scowl deepened, deeply wishing he could burn the thing with his intense glare alone.

"If you think I'm getting on that thing, you have another thing coming," the blond haired man growled.

"Don't be a pouty puss, Morgan," Esme chided him. "C'mon, you need to get out of this stuffy room, and enjoy some fresh air once in a while."

He snorted. "You act like I'm stuck here out of my own violation. And I can walk fine on my own."

The blonde haired woman shot him an incredulous look like he'd made the most idiotic statement she has ever heard. "Yeah, and look at what happened the last time you tried to walk on your own."

His face contorted in angry embarrassment at the reminder. He reluctantly remembered that day. He had decided that he had enough sitting around, and being bored to death. A mere five days have passed since he'd awoken. Add that to the additional two days he spent passed out, and has been in this stupid clinic for about a week. Without a doctor's permission or consent he tried moving around by himself, figuring that the quicker he could show them he could walk without help or aid of any sort, the quicker he could get the hell out of here.

That was a huge mistake due in part to his impatience. He ended up straining his body so much, he tore his wounds open. He painfully collapsed on the ground, blood gushing his injured back. To make matters worse, the irksome woman was the one who found him in that pathetically weak state!

How could he be humiliated twice in one week?

She fretted and nagged him for his recklessness and stupidity while the doctor tended to his reopened wounds. What the hell does she understand? It's easy for her to talk! She's not the one spending restless days in absolute discontent blandness and frustrated monotony in the tiny hospital!

Morgan did not need a reminder of his wounded pride, alright?! All the same, he was not getting on that wheelchair! He was a mod soul, dammit! He was created for the sole initial purpose of combat. He was not some helpless, fragile human being.

"Aren't you getting on?" Esme asked, innocently, rolling the chair back and forth, mutedly feverish.

He clenched his jaw, feeling his annoyance and frustration rising before offering a disdainful sneer. "No."

Her bright smile was reduced to a frown. "Why not?"

He glared at her in sheer contempt. "Do you wish for me to kill with shame? To degrade and demean me further?"

She waved, dismissively. "Morgan, don't be such a drama queen."

His face burned with aggravated indignation at being brushed off so casually. How dare she treat him as if he was some hysterically overexaggerating, hopelessly melodramatic, boneheaded buffoon? "I am not being a drama queen!" he hissed, angrily. "I will not disgrace myself by getting on that wheelchair. I don't need to be rolled around, being pitied by you."

She blew an exasperated sigh through her nose. "It's not pity, Morgan. What's wrong with helping someone in need? Why do you have to make everything unnecessarily difficult?"

"I'm making things difficult?" he argued, incredulously.

"You are being stubborn."

"I am not being stubborn! If you think showing a bit of flimsy kindness would make me want to go out with you, then you are wasting your time."

Esme gaped at him, offendedly appalled. "What? That…! You…!" After her initial flabbergasted expression morphed into vivid outrage. "Why you…! That is the most arrogant, narcissistic accusation I have ever heard! How full of yourself are you?! You stupid, ungrateful jerk!"

He promptly ignored her squawking, shifting and turning away from her. The tension in the room was tense. When a few moments passed without the sound of stomping footsteps, the blond haired mod soul glanced behind to catch a glimpse of the woman still standing there.

"You're still here? I thought I told you to go away."

"That's too bad," the blonde haired woman huffed. "I already have permission from the doctor to take you outside. So, unfortunately for you, I'm not leaving until I do," she proclaimed, sternly.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed, turning back to face her with furrowed brows. "You are as stubborn as a mule."

She shot back a snippy snark. "Thanks. It looks like I have to be to deal with an obstinate man like you. So, are you coming or what? And the answer better be 'yes', or we'll be dealing with this standstill all day, if you prefer, Morgan."

Morgan glowered at her. He was really starting to hate her. Why couldn't she take the hint, and leave him alone? What has he done to endure this torture? Was it because he survived his execution?

"Fine," the mod soul grumbled, irritably. He might as well get this torture over with. The sooner he does this, the sooner the woman would fuck off.

Esme beamed, triumphantly. "Glad you see it my way."

He felt the incredible urge to punch the smug grin off her face.

She scooted the chair closer to the bed, so that it'll be easier for him to climb on without straining his injuries too much. Don't want them to reopen. Again.

Once Morgan was completely secured on the wheelchair, and Esme was promptly satisfied, the blonde haired woman wheeled the blond haired man out of his room.


Esme took Morgan outside to the front of the clinic. "According to the doctor's instructions, we can't go that far away from the clinic, in case something happens," she informed him.

He only offered a small grunt in reply.

This is practically the first time he's been outside of the clinic, free to explore Rismoro, even if it's just basically the small hospital's front yard. Esme had told him that Rismoro was a small town, but from what he could see Rismoro appeared to be more of a village than a town. There weren't that many people around. He knew that the blonde haired woman had confessed that there were less people in this town than normal, but this was beyond his expectations. It was virtually a ghost town. It was nearly devoid of so much life, it was depressing.

Or was the clinic merely stationed in the isolated part of Rismoro? In all his time spent staying in the hospital, he saw very few people pass by. Maybe he was stationed in the part of the clinic where people walked by less frequently. If so, then good. It'll make him seethe with jealous rage, if he saw more than a few people pass by several days at a time, enjoying their 'precious' lives while he's suffering in bed with next to nothing to do.

Once she found an ideal spot under the shade of a large tree on a hillside overlooking the small town, the blonde haired woman parked the wheelchair and happily stretched her arms out beside him. "Isn't the fresh air wonderful?" she chirped, blissfully. "It must be nice being out of that stuffy room. Don't you agree, Morgan?"

The mod soul doesn't bother responding. His dark green eyes gazed at the pleasant scenery before him. The blades of grass danced in the soft breeze, and the gentle rustling of the tree leaves reached his ears. There were a few buds of colorful flowers here and there. Smelling the pleasing pungent fragrance of nature was a major improvement over the scent of disinfectant that violently invaded his nostrils everyday. The tedious white walls he had forcibly grown accustomed to were replaced by a clear blue sky. There were a few white, fluffy clouds in sight, and they calmly drifted by.

It was...nice. But, technically, anything would feel like an improvement over that dingy room.

He eyed the woman laying on the grass near, her back leaning against the tree. This woman was an absolute enigma. Why the hell does care so much about him? A total stranger? Normally, when a person discerns a gravely injured, then would simply drop them to the nearest medical facility to get the help they need, and be done with them.

He just couldn't figure it out, and that made him all the more wary of her. Was she aiming to butter him up with deceitful kindness and artificial compassion in the vain hope he'll drop his guard? He could not fathom what to do with her, with this...quandary. Nobody could be this caring for an unknown outsider without an ulterior motive. The question is...what is she striving to obtain from him?

"Hey, why are you staring at me?" Esme questioned, blonde brows furrowed. She veered herself off the tree trunk.

Morgan masked his startle at being caught staring. He glanced away, displaying a pretense of casualness in an effort to cloak his mild stagger. "Nothing."

She gazed at him, intensely before dropping it. She turned, slightly, and her ultramarine blue orbs peered over at the scenery in front of her. The houses of the town's residence could be seen in the distance. The narrow river that streamlined through the middle of town then curving to the right at the end into the words ahead, probably heading into a small body of water similar to a pond or lake.

Each individual house had small patches of grass surrounding them. Well, most of them. The methodical pathways of the concrete sidewalks were conveniently swerved around the houses, grassy fields, and various important shops, stores, and facilities in a disconnected unity. Rismoro was the kind of town where it would be somewhat difficult for motor vehicles to get by. There were not that many roads for cars to drive on. The majority of roads looped around the outskirts of the small town.

The blonde haired woman smiled, serenely at the peaceful sight. She had always loved this town. The calm tranquility that naturally enveloped the atmosphere of the town. The fundamental essence of nature blended seamlessly with the charmingly simplistic design and structure of the buildings. It was a town that smoothly harmonized with the wholesome beauty of nature itself. It was all aesthetically pleasing to behold.

Her ultramarine blue eyes easily landed on a certain, very distinctive oak tree directly behind and on the right side of a yellow roofed, one story house. Her house. The house she grew up in and raised by her mom and dad.

"You know, this is one of my favorite spots in town," Esme began, trying to start up a pleasant conversation. She folded her hands behind her back. "Sometimes when...I have...so much going on with my life, so much that it's...too overwhelming, I'll come here to clear my mind."

A blond brow raised in curiosity. "One of your favorite spots?" Wasn't this grassy area basically near the front yard of the clinic? "You visit this clinic frequently?" Morgan inquired, concealing his emotions.

"Yeah," she responded, her tone coming out soft and wistfully melancholic. "My mom is sick with a terminal illness. I come here regularly to pick up medicine to cure the symptoms and make things more bearable for her, but we don't have the money to pay for the operation to fully heal her."

The blond mod soul was rendered quite disturbingly astonished and perturbingly nonplussed. Is that why she is having financial troubles? And why she was uncertain about leaving the town like most of her other friends?

But that doesn't make sense! If she was already having so much trouble conjuring up the money, then why concern herself with him? Why waste time with him when she should be looking after her mother?

"Then why are you wasting your time and resources on me?" he asked, dubiously. He realized he was sounding like a broken record, but her actions just don't make any sense to him. For the life of him, he could not wrap his head around it!

She sighed, almost exasperated by the question. "Is it seriously that unbelievably weird for me to be helping you out in your time of need?"

"Yes," he replied without a beat. "Normal people don't go to incredibly painstaking lengths to help a stranger. Unless, they are hoping to gain something from it. But you… You have nothing to gain by caring for me. You are not benefiting from putting in more effort than you need by providing for me. You have taken me to the hospital to heal my injuries, correct? Your job was done then and there. Whatever happened to me after that should have been of no concern to you. In fact, the new, shocking revelations you just laid out to me revealed that helping me is actually detrimental to you. It just…" He ran a frustrated hand through his bangs, staring down at his lap with a contemplative, disbelieving scowl. "It just doesn't make any sense." He lifted his head back up, returning his fierce, intense, incredulous, distrustful, piercing gaze on headache inducing, mystifying woman. "You don't make any sense!"

The blonde haired woman stared at him, blankly, almost scrutinizingly, not uttering a single word. The atmosphere surrounding them became thick with shuddering disquietude. A silent gust of wind blew through the air, dramatically causing the leaves of the tree to softly rustle and her blonde hair to gently whip around.

"Morgan? Do you…? Do you...have a hard time trusting...other people?"

That simple question seemed to have thoroughly caught the mod soul off guard as his dark green eyes slightly widened, wholly alarmed. "What?" After a moment had gone by, he swiftly regained his composure, shooting her a dirty and heated glower, which Esme internally noted seemed to be a defensive mechanism of his. "What makes you say that? Huh?"

Esme calmly stared back at him, utterly unfazed, having gotten quite used to his unsavory attitude. "That explains why you have such a difficult time accepting genuine kindness," she answered, attentively.

Unpleasant memories rushed through Morgan's mind. The only memories he had were ones of betrayal, hatred, mistrust. The minute he was created, he was put on death row. His purpose, his reason for living was denied from him. They wanted to destroy him for making him what he is! They had deemed him useless and unnecessary. They coldly dismissed and remorselessly refused his right to live!

He had drowned in a sea of utter despair. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years passed as he simply waited for his execution. As time and more time flew by in an agonizingly slow pace, his unpalatable sense of terrifying dread and mind breaking trepidation. The only thing occupying his mind was when was he going to die? Were they dragging it out to torture him? Torture him with the fear, unease, and hopelessness of inevitable doom? The cold darkness of anguished despondency engulfed him, sending him spiraling into endless crushing desolation. It felt like he was going insane with harrowing fright.

Even after the miracle of surviving and ending up in a different world that was parallel to the World of the Living, it had done nothing to quell the tremendous anger and sorrow that had taken control of him. Interacting with humans here caused him to become disillusioned. He was created then destined for destruction because of these worthless, self righteous, miserable pieces of shits?! Everywhere he went, he was met with humanity's depravity, selfishness, and greed. Life's unfairness and cruelty was not lost on him. He was unjustly judged because of the consequences of others. It was...heartlessly inhumane! How his entire life was decided and controlled by incompetence of others!

He was the one paying for others' mistakes!

The blond haired mod soul moodily snapped back to reality, and scoffed. "You are simply imagining things."

There was complete silence. He was not met with a witty comeback or sugary sweet, sentimental speeches. However, he was surprised when she knelt in front of him, and gently held his hands, and gazed into his eyes with such burning passion and mind boggling solicitude, it took his breath away.

"Look," Esme started, her voice was so incredibly soft yet so unfathomably powerful it managed to capture his attention and lock him into a flummoxed stupor. "I don't know what happened to you in the past, Morgan. I'm not going to say anything insensitive or naive in an attempt to sugarcoat whatever trauma you have faced in your past. I'm not going to express mawkish declarations like 'things will get better, you just have to look at the bright side' or 'there is always a light at the end of every dark tunnel'. I'm not going to downplay your suffering, and trample over the hardships you had to endure to still be here where you are now by making it seem less serious and insignificant than it actually is. I'm not going to disrespect your way of life." Her hands tightened around his in a genuine expression of benevolent sincerity. "But I will always be here to listen to your troubles. So, I hope...one day...you'll be able to be more open with me. Okay, Morgan?"

She smiled, gently at him, almost breathtakingly. "I may not be quite knowledgeable about the world, or have the wisdom of a sage, but I am a good listener."

Now, he could fully understand why her eyes shone so brightly with gentle warmth and fervor compassion. He understood why her ultramarine blue eyes bewitched him so, and wholeheartedly captivated his soul so effortlessly. Why one look into her eyes, and he was unconsciously and hopelessly enraptured.

Morgan had never ever in his life seen a woman radiant with such magnificent beauty. Esme was practically glowing! The sun was perfectly in line with the top of her head, giving her blonde hair an angelic, golden flare. His heart instantly leapt into his throat. He was reduced into a dumbstruck mess who couldn't even come up with a single coherent sentence or thought process.

At the moment, the only thing that crossed Morgan's mind was how beautiful she was.

He would not realize it until much, much later that this was the moment that he genuinely started falling in love with Esme.

And who knew that that love would ultimately destroy him? So utterly and completely devastate him, sending him into heart shattering despair. The end result was leaving him in a broken, hateful shell of his former self.


Morgan continued to aggressively make out with the receptionist in the bathroom. At this point, he stopped caring about being gentle or loving. Not when he was being haunted by those memories. Memories of the woman who he shall never forget. All he cared about was using this brunette bimbo as an outlet for his desires. To him, she was only a willing tool for pleasure. Nothing more. Nothing else.

The receptionist was half naked, her appropriately ample chest exposed and underwear strewn across the floor. Her hair and clothes were in a disheveled and disorderly state. Her slim legs were wrapped around his waist, tightly, refusing to let go. Demanding more mind numbing pleasure.

With her body enclosed around the blond haired mod soul, her face was flushed red from pure ecstasy and matted with sweat. She was the epitome of a person lost in utter, blissful pleasure.

A few more moans vibrated across the room. Afterwards, the task was complete and Morgan was satisfied. For now.

He let her go, and the brown haired woman dropped in a soft yet rough heap on the ground. Her breath was coming out in harsh pants, and her brown eyes were somewhat unfocused.

The mod soul did not care for her, or bothered to consider how she was feeling or holding up, busying himself with zipping his pants back up. It took her a few minutes to come back down from her high. And she did, he gave her an order.

"Tonight," he whispered in her ear, huskily, already sending shivers of excitement down her spine. "Wait for me. In my room. On my bed. Naked. With your legs spread and ready for me. I'm not done with you yet," he finished with such a commanding, lustful tone, the woman almost melted into a pile of mush, and begged him to take her again then and there instead of agonizing her by waiting.

Once she nodded her head in agreement for their little, private midnight tryst, she sensually licked her lips, pulled him in for a sloppy, heated kiss.

The blond haired man unfeelingly requested for her to keep an eye out on the bathroom doorway in an authoritative tone that left no room for argument. To make sure there was nobody near, so he could make a clear getaway from the girls' bathroom. It would be highly annoying to receive judgemental looks of scornful disapproval and scathing revulsion.

The receptionist eagerly did the task that was assigned to her. She watched the entrance with the intense gaze of a hawk. She figured if she does a very good job, then the handsome man would reward her later tonight by wildly rocking her world.

Morgan leaned against the stall wall, dark green eyes pensively vacant, still trapped in an unforgiving whirlwind of soul crushing sorrowful memories.

He missed her.

He missed her so damn much!

Her death only validated his low expectations of humans. For the ones who cold heartedly left her to die. Humanity's malicious hypocrisy infuriates him so fucking much!

He was filled with nothing but longing regret.

And nothing could ever make it better. All he could do was...temporarily relieve the pain.


(A/N: Well, that's about it! The end of chapter fifty two! I hope you guys enjoyed it! Yeah, I do not what you guys were expecting, but I decided to expand more on Morgan's backstory. I was going to do it sooner or later, so I might as well do it now. Although, I was not expecting the backstory to be this long. It's probably going to expand another chapter or two.

Also, do you know what else I find alarmingly disconcerting? Morgan was supposed to be the most depraved and heinously sordid of the three mod souls I created, so why does he have the most complex background? I don't know whether to feel sympathetic or disgusted. Why is that? Is it because...knowing a person's backstory and somewhat understanding why they are the way they are...makes it more horrifying? If they are a simple [sometimes forgetful] character with one note characteristics and quirks, good or bad, we can simply ignore it or not think much of it with the excuse of 'that is just the way they are'. But give them a decent [nothing too excessively whiny, over the top, or implausible] backstory, and for some reason the viewers can't stop thinking about it. We are either filled with dread or sympathy or something in between. Does the complicated sense of horror come from willingly knowing that this evil character is more human than one would initially believe? Don't get me wrong. I don't like Morgan [as a person, not because he's a horribly written OC]. He is a horrible, horrible person. But even I'm starting to feel a little, teensy bit sorry for him. You guys will understand why later.

I...have nothing else to say about this chapter. To me, it's rather simple and straightforward. No further explanations needed. At least, I think not.

Leave any comments, suggestions, or questions in a review, and thanks for reading! Oh, before I forget... Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!)

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