Not a Care in the World

The sound of cars in the distance, honking and revving their engines, was squashed by the coming rainfall. Dark clouds filled the starry sky and before long, the rain of Autumn had set in.

Morgan looked up at the sky, her eyes blacker than the abyss of space above... she wondered, if she could appreciate the sky and the rain as it splashed on her face, drowning through her hair as she lay on the ground.

Her mistress had taught her of Astronomy, of Crimson Mars and Blue Neptune, of the stars and their secrets, of the sciences and the magics long hidden from the Wicken and their kind, who had so dwindled over the years.

Morgan thought on her task, she thought on this city, and she thought on the stars... as she peered up the tall buildings on either side of her, as she lay down flat on her back on the floor, having been pushed by one of the Mafia men.

They had followed her into this Alley, spouted the usual nonsense men spout before they find a reason to justify forcing themselves on a young **** woman, and then... the largest of them attacked, now attempting to lift her dress and penetrate into her pantieless Sex.

Morgan was still wondering if she would appreciate her small knowledge of the world when the man's Orifices began to bleed, and Morgan's hair began to stand up on end. The Man could not scream, just as Bradley couldn't, speaking was difficult when your lungs were collapsing, liver failing, heart palpitating, your entire internal structure ripped apart by a Fact of Reality: Morgan could not be **** upon... at least not by a human, any who tried to take her against her will... died a very slow, and very painful ****, as was the dying wish of her Mistress, a "Spell after ****"/An Omen Incantation, made with such conviction that even after she had put her Mistress in the ground to rest in eternity, her protection still remained: A Stave of Chastity.

The First man slumped over, his friend was close enough for his Kidneys to fail and his eyes to start bleeding, although as the Tall, snowy haired girl pushed his friend aside, her shadow overcast the seizing man, foam frothing from between his lips.

There was no hatred in her eyes, only an icy kind of pity, she knelt by the mans feet, his eyes budging as his body was ruined from the inside out.

"What's your name?" She asked, brushing the dirt from her now damp sundress. The Man did not speak, he only shook. Morgan frowned and reached into the mans suit jacket, his wallet, a pale alligator skin by the feel of it, opened without issue and revealed the mans name to be Piotr Waldrov. "Did you know that Hell, is actually both hot and Cold Piotr?" She spoke nonchalantly, counting out his cash, pocketing his wallet. "I was five years old when I first went there, Dante wasn't wrong, their are plenty of circles to visit... Lust and wrath are particularly nasty choices..." Morgan lent in and whispered

"Give yourself to me, as a sacrifice. Give me your mind; your soul, give me your knowledge and allow me to bewitch you... Say, that You'll sacrifice" She pleaded gently, it was seduction, not ****.

His bloodshot eyes bled, and flickered open and shut, he spoke through his foam covered lips "I... I Sacrifice..."

"Sleep well... Fois dhut" Morgan sucked in air, she had to hold her breath to ensnare a mans mind. Staggering up to her feet, she coughed violently as a black ooze began to seep from her nose, bleeding all over her lips and chin. Clutching the sides of her head, she stood strong and allowed the whiplash to pass.

After a couple of moments, she sighed relief, comforted by the pitter patter of the rain. Morgan had wiped away her black blood on her dress, making sure to put it on the inside of the dress. She didn't want any of her blood getting anywhere near anyone. She'd have to burn this dress later.

Looking down at Piotr, she saw his mangled body and frowned mournfully, She disliked ****, aggravated or not, it disrupted progress, a thing her mistress would never allow.

She lent down and slipped her hand into his jean pocket, pulling out the keys to his Apartment, downtown. It was only a Mile east of here, an apartment in the Harmon, a high-end complex of apartments in the east end.

The Night went on, the Rain continued, and wearing a dark blue suit jacket over her stained sundress, the people of Wallace turned their heads and gazed at this odd woman, with her white hair, strolling casually through the busy streets, without a care in the world.

Morgan wandered down a street that she didn't belong to, wearing a dress that she didn't own, humming a song that she didn't know, in Wallaces' Eastside. Tall apartment complexes stretched up into the starry sky, buzzing with life. Every so often, a spoilt teen would peak their head out to smoke a cigarette or a joint, she never could tell the difference, or a man in suits of varying colours would wander out, stinking of adultery and Corporate espionage.

It was quiet at least, for that she was thankful, but this Black City only felt stranger and stranger, especially as she moved towards the "St Edwards Gallery" the tallest and most luxurious of the apartment complexes that towered around the Young Witch.

Morgan encountered... a great oddity, they were indeed doors... but doors, three doors, that turned on a 360 axis, most doors were simple enough, push out one side and emerge on the other, but this... enigma, had her lost, moving around and around and around, unsure of when to emerge. It made her dizzy, and a little upset.

"Umm... excuse?"

Morgan stopped dizzily, trying to blink away the staggering image of the young woman who peered at her from the warm reception interior.

Looking through the glass, Morgan squinted her eyes at the pretty, and finely dressed dirty blonde who peered with concern back at her.

"What?" Morgan said, she struggled to hear the numbed tone of the girl, even harder to understand with her ludicrous accent.

"Madam, What are you doing?" Her lips were full and pink, it made them easy to read, although her melodic tone confused Morgan to no end.

"I'm... trying to figure out this... door?" Morgan explained.

The Woman's silvery-blue eyes curled confusedly. "It is a Revolving door, Oui? can you not just, turn it?" the girl asked again, she wore a dark dress with a grey Blazier, she was staggeringly beautiful, women in the countryside were clearly much less impressive than that of Wallace.

"Revolving? oh." Morgan's revelation came quickly as she slowly followed the door around and slipped into the warmth of the apartment, only...

"Aha!" Morgan smiled, although was confused to see the Dirty blonde on the other side.

The Young woman didn't seem to appreciate the rain, shielding her hair with a squeak before rushing back within the door.

Morgan felt guilty and so went to help and somehow found herself **** back outside, with the Blonde back inside.

"Mon Dieu!" The Girl cried as Morgan swiveled around outside, unsure of how exactly she wound up outside again, as the icy spears of the hard rain smashed into her outfit and the snowy locks of her scalp.

The Pretty blonde rushed through the doors like a master, grasping Morgan by the arm, Morgan found herself pulled into one section of the doors and guided into the warm solitude of the reception.

Morgan stood for a moment, as the pretty dirty blonde huffed, Morgan looked around, her hair like wet snow hung as sleet on her shoulders, this place was easily the fanciest and classiest place that Morgan had ever been in, in her entire life.

All furniture was easily antique, one could always tell the age of the room, the age sunk into the wooden coffee tables gave them a shine that sprung up into the young breeze.

"Umm, Excusez-moi? …Madame?"

Morgan rubbed her chin, trying to figure out how old the smell was in this lavish reception. "Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?" the blonde asked softly.

The Witch pointed "How old is that Desk over there?" Morgan asked.

"It's... I do not know, Madame?" the girl cringed, it was strange how her eye twitched every few seconds, not to mention her smell, she was sickly sweet like too many pancakes, Morgan liked it.

Smiling, Morgan reached out a hand "I am Morgan. Who are you?"

The Young woman, only maybe a year or two older than the Witch herself, creased her brows and very hesitantly clutched Morgan's index and middle finger, shaking it with even less enthusiasm.

"au chante mademoiselle, I am... Monique, I work at reception at that desk you're pointing at. You are in the right place, Qui? nobody is supposed to be with you?" her voice was tentative, although slightly vexing.

Morgan didn't understand, she withdrew her hand.

"Nobody is taking care of you, no?"

The White-haired girl reached into the pocket of her jacket, brandishing her room key "I need to find room, 66B? Can you direct me there?"

"The Penthouse Dragonfly suite? heh no no no, You cannot be staying in there, that's... another clients."

"Yes, Piotr Waldrov, I am his daughter. He gave me permission to stay."

Monique raised her golden eyebrow "Mr Waldrov usually notifies us when he leaves town?"

"He was unexpectantly engaged, literally, He and my mother have gotten back together, she's an insufferable cow... *Sniff* he's always chosen her over spending time with me." Morgan blinked quickly, scrunching up her face so that her eyes began to mist up, crumpling in her chest so that her breathing was sharp and pronounced.

Monique grimaced fiercely "Oh no! No, don't cry... I'll... I'll just, it's... Your room is on the 11th-floor terrace, press the dragonfly in the elevator, it'll take you straight there."

The Snowy haired girl cleared her throat and smiled "Thanks."

Monique clearly saw the shift as Morgan went to walk away "Um, madam? I fear I might have misunderstood." Her hand rested on Morgan's shoulder, and the Witch turned to stare back with an insidious gaze.

Morgan spoke this:

"Non, vous ne l’avez pas fait, mais vous devriez travailler sur votre prononciation, essayer de ne pas trop vous arrêter? il est évident que vous n’avez rien d’intelligent à dire, C’est bon je ne suis pas non plus de langue maternelle anglaise, juste une pensée" ("No, you haven't, but you should work on your pronunciation, try not to stop too much? it's obvious you don't have anything smart to say, it's okay I'm not a native English speaker either, just a thought")

Monique's mouth hung open with the hint of offence and confusion, mouthing wordlessly as Morgan made her way to the snug elevator and pressed the dragonfly button promptly, vanishing with the closing lids of the shiny metal doors.

As the Girl arose in the Elevator, she thought wondrously on it all, how big and bad this outside world really was... She was rising up like a sparrow on the wind up a building made of wood, concrete and steel, it felt like a fairytale to her, one with wonders beyond imagining. Morgan wanted to see everything she could.

The door opened to a room, the likes of which she had never before seen. Everything she needed, every necessity, every luxury she could ever need resided in this wide and beautiful room.

She stepped out into the marble floor, looking at the bedroom area with a queen-sized bed crowned by two giant glass closets on each side. The Kitchen was fully stocked, she peaked her ivory head into every cupboard, touching every knife in the block, inspecting the shiny hood above the fanciful oven.

Morgan eventually lay in the oversized tub with strange jets on the inside, playing with the wide waterfall tap with fascination while looking out over the long glass wall, absorbing the beautiful penthouse view "This will do." She muttered, turning on the cold tap which streamed out on her clothes, slowly swallowing her hole, Morgan allowing her head to dip under the surface.

Watching her hair wave like white tendrils around her, the Witch closed her black eyes and for the first time since coming into the Black City, she felt at peace; not a care in the world.