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Apr. 4th, 2019 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
witchship[ If you pray enough - if you wish enough - the Gods will answer. She had been taught this from the beginning by her beloved Mother. She had believed in it even when that same Mother had thrown her onto the streets, no longer able to take care of her for free. And Morgana had tried to work, for sure, but her... extremities were always a problem; there were women like her, perhaps, but Morgana hadn't simply been picked up by the Healing Church. She doled her blood out for free, slicing open her arms, her fingers... for some time now, that had been how she conducted her life. Giving away her blood for free. And why not? In the end, being born with such a gift and harvesting it for yourself - that would be truly sacrilegious to the girl. Morgana was devout, and she believed in the healing and Gods and she believed in the idea that she was brought here to heal with the upper echelons. She was special, yes, that was simply how it was. Something like a Saint, akin to those very Gods they worshiped... that's what her mother had taught her.
It was only when she refused to indulge her mother's greed that things had gone south. She had yet to mourn for the woman. Wandering into this cursed land, she had been swept up into the politics of it all when the healing church decided that to let one Blood Saint wander would be one too many.
And now, among the rows and rows of books, among great scholars and those with immeasurable power within the town, she finds herself curious. ]
Tell me, my dear. What do you think of money?
[ A question that seems so inconsequential. Conversation for the sake conversation. Even so, Morgana holds her posture tight, closed off. Impenetrable. Perhaps there is more to this question than necessary, but -- but.
Curiosity killed the cat, in any case. She asks this with a voice like honey, betraying the idea of an innocent girl. Sixteen and no older but yet no younger, one can't help but think that Morgana could ask this question of anyone. (Or maybe no one at all - for all it's vagueness, though, it is perhaps easy to tell that she is curious about the greed this other girl might have witnessed in her life time.) ]
It was only when she refused to indulge her mother's greed that things had gone south. She had yet to mourn for the woman. Wandering into this cursed land, she had been swept up into the politics of it all when the healing church decided that to let one Blood Saint wander would be one too many.
And now, among the rows and rows of books, among great scholars and those with immeasurable power within the town, she finds herself curious. ]
Tell me, my dear. What do you think of money?
[ A question that seems so inconsequential. Conversation for the sake conversation. Even so, Morgana holds her posture tight, closed off. Impenetrable. Perhaps there is more to this question than necessary, but -- but.
Curiosity killed the cat, in any case. She asks this with a voice like honey, betraying the idea of an innocent girl. Sixteen and no older but yet no younger, one can't help but think that Morgana could ask this question of anyone. (Or maybe no one at all - for all it's vagueness, though, it is perhaps easy to tell that she is curious about the greed this other girl might have witnessed in her life time.) ]
