Best Served Cold Pt III

Title: Best Served Cold (pt. III) (formerly 'Blood Feud')
By: Child of Loki
Summary: A twisted tale of revenge in a somewhat steampunk setting. Lady Morgana's thirst for blood threatens to destroy all around her, but drives her ingenuity.
Status: Major WIP...Multiple additions and continuous edits...

Author's Notes/Portions in limbo or edit will appear in violet. Small/minor edits will not be color-coded.

Any and all help would be greatly appreciated!

Newly added sections will appear in blue

Will probably receive many, many more edits...

"Best Served Cold" 

"Best Served Cold Pt II" 

------------------

The great metal doors appeared before him far earlier than he had expected, and Edward barely managed to stop short of them. But instead of crashing painfully into the heavy metal panels, Jane who had been but a split-second behind him collided violently into his back, practically knocking them both to the cold, hard floor.

Taking a moment to steady himself, the clamor behind the door much more a reality at their new proximity, Edward studied his Jane. She took a deep breath and nodded her head slightly at him. Perhaps, her heart was beating too fast. Perhaps, like him, her nerves were all tingling in heightened sensitivity. But whatever the reason, he knew words were probably beyond either of their capacities at the moment.

The only question was whether to open the door slowly, steal a surreptitious peek at the contents of the laboratory...or to burst in there with the element of-

Another terrible scream rose above the din.

It was undoubtedly one of the ladies, but Edward had never figured either could scream like that; the seemingly emotionless Renette and the passionate yet obstinate Lady Morgana. Incredulity aside, it induced him to rush through the door nonetheless.

Just when he had thought he'd witnessed the most appalling scene he'd ever lay eyes upon in the entirety of his existence, that laboratory revealed another tableau far more gruesome than anything in his most sinisterly creative nightmares.

There was a great writhing, snarling, howling mass of sinew, fur, teeth and claws in the middle of the room, partially strapped down to a metal table with great iron chains. And that was the entire problem...partially.

Edward didn't know or want to know what they had done to the creature to make him howl so, to make him fight for all he was worth, to gather the strength to break one of the massive iron shackles apart. And he really didn't want to see the way in which the massive creature's chest was cracked open, as it twisted in agony, giving Edward a glimpse of its exposed heart beating rapidly, blood pouring form the gaping crevasse.

A not too awfully loud but significant thump caused Edward to whip around to find that Jane had passed out behind him, lying unconscious upon the once clean, often and once again blood-splattered floor. His first instinct was to help her, but her circumstances weren't quite as pressing as the violence that filled the laboratory, which was no doubt the cause for her fainting.

Renette was hastily fiddling with something on the other side of the room. It looked as if the creature had knocked over a tray of their tools, sent them flying across the room... and judging by the abnormally unkempt appearance of the woman, Renette had gone with them. Edward was about to run to her side, see if he could aide her when his eyes fell upon the ultimate impetus for the mess surrounding him.

Moaning and holding a blood-soaked rag to her middle, Lady Morgana was barely holding herself up, leaning with her back to a nearby table. If he thought how pale Jane had become over the butchery of the creature corpse was extremely disconcerting, it was nothing compared to the drastic change in Morgana when the color drained from the normally olive skin of her face. And just off to her side, one of her large self-rotating saws lay buzzing on the floor, abandoned in the melee.

He made his way over to her, wary of the still thrashing and yowling beast and menacing saw which moved about the floor of its own accord. Whatever she was hiding beneath the rag, Edward was more than certain it was not pleasant. It probably wasn't even rather repulsive. He was fully prepared for it to be the most sickening injury he could imagine, especially judging by the vast expanse of red spreading across the front of her trousers, and spilling down her leg into a great tacky pool.

"What can I do?" Edward asked her, his voice edged with panic.

"Renette can handle the lupine," she replied with a voice strained by pain. She winced and groaned, slipping a little in her stance. Grabbing one of her arms, Edward eased the lady to the floor as her legs appeared to give out.

A look Edward had to this point never witnessed upon the hard lady's face overwhelmed her features as she pulled back the drenched cloth and surveyed the damage it obscured. Her eyes closed, and she turned her head away with a grunt of disgust, her thin lips pressed so tightly, her mouth was just a line. And for a single fleeting moment, the cold, obdurate woman appeared vulnerable.

Edward swallowed hard at this new revelation. It upset his little world, the rules of which he had previously been so certain. Jane was sometimes distant but kind to him, Paul was compassionate and brave, Renette was hollow but polite and respectful, and Lady Morgana was as unmovable as stone and thrice as cold. At least, he had thought those to be the guidelines for his existence. But now...

"Edward, are you just going stand there like a statue, or are you planning on rendering me some assistance?!" Lady Morgana barked, snapping him out of his shocked reverie.

"What do you wish me to do?" Edward asked while trying not to anticipate the no doubt grisly wound the lady had sustained. If it was enough to make her cringe...

She lifted the rag, again only revealing the injury to her eyes. This time she did not wince, groan, or cast her eyes away, which heartened Edward a bit, but the woman still appeared as if she were about to be severely ill, if not lose consciousness altogether

"It's already begun the healing process," she announced.

"That's good then, right?" Edward probed for confirmation.

"In most cases, yes," Morgana explained, the muscles of her jaw and neck visibly strained, a sign that her body remained tense from the pain she was still suffering. "However, in this instance... Renette!"

She shouted the other woman's name so loud that Edward's heart leapt into is throat and he started like he was waking from the worst of nightmares. A quick glance behind him permitted him to catch the violent reaction about which the lady had been warning her assistant. The creature had broken another one of the chains binding him to the table, and possessing of more leverage, threw off the much smaller woman who had been straddling his neck and plunging some sort of needle deep into the sinewy flesh. 

Renette's already disheveled form went flying through the air, her body landing with a dreadful crash into a set of shelves against the opposing wall. Glass jars shattered, wood splintered. Flesh, specimens, and sharp tools alike plummeted to the cold, hard floor.  The smell of chemicals and rotting flesh flooded the air and mingled with the irony scent of blood.

Edward tried to rise to his feet, to run and check on the woman who was currently indistinguishable from the jagged, lumpy pile with various fluids pooling around it. Only, a shockingly strong hand held him back, so again he returned his attention to the ever surprising woman without a soul.

"She's more than capable of taking care of herself," Lady Morgana explained coolly, drawing his attention solely to her. It was a gift she had. Some would no doubt call it witchery. And perhaps they'd be right. "I, on the other hand, cannot take care of this alone."

Throwing the now completely blood-soaked cloth to the side, the lady revealed the gruesome injury she had sustained. Whether it was by creature's claw or one of her own saws was irrelevant to the affect that the sight of it had upon Edward. Quickly, he turned to one side, retching what little resided in his stomach onto the dirty floor.

With that out of the way, he attempted to tend to the castle’s mistress once more, but found himself on edge by the continuous vocalizations from the creature behind him. At least, they had diminished to a much less disconcerting yet still macabre whimpering.

"Don't worry your self, Edward," she interrupted, obviously picking up on his fear. Jane might rightly believe that Lady Morgana was consumed by her own selfish desire for revenge, but the lady proved time and again to be very perceptive. "As always, Renette has not left her task incomplete. The lupine will be as docile as the loyalist of lapdogs in a matter of moments."

"Now, help me with this!" she barked startling him into action. Edward reached a reluctant hand towards her exposed abdomen. He could see what the full extent of the wound had been even as it continued to seal up almost magically before his very eyes.

Originally it must have been a great, bloody gash, one that would've killed an average person, stretching clean across her belly from one side to the other, directly beneath her navel. The new skin was not unlike scar tissue, its tint slightly off from its surroundings as it grew, knitting the gaping chasm closed. There were still several inches yet to heal, through which a rather significant bundle of bloody innards were being choked where they hung limply outside of her body.

"Quick!" she snapped again, jarring him from his mind's tendency to wander. "Before it heals beyond the point where it can be readily fixed. Taking a scalpel to my own gut is not what I would consider a pleasant diversion. Nor an easy one for that matter. And since Renette's not in any condition to lend her expert hand, I need you to rectify this...now!”

The dark haired, dark spirited woman continued to talk as Edward did as she had instructed. Whether it was meant as a distraction for her self or for him, he could not tell, but he was grateful nonetheless, despite the rather unsettling topic.

"You'd think that after being eviscerated half a dozen times, you'd get used to the sensation." She groaned as he gently pushed the protruding intestines back into her body. They squished disturbingly at his touch and Edward desperately tried not to consider that his fingers were inside of the woman's gut.  "But nothing ever prepares you for the feeling of your internal organs spilling out into the cold, open air."

Edward yelped as the nascent skin began to seal even more expeditiously, barely allowing him enough time to pull his finger out of her stomach before it was caught there and healed into her novel flesh.

Lady Morgana looked down, running a hand over the smooth skin of her stomach. The scar was already fading, adjusting to match the rest of her flesh tone. Curious that she remained unscathed. All of the scarring she had sustained over the years was entirely in her mind and soul. Judging by the multitude of scars marring Paul's intimidating person, the others did not seem to enjoy such a vanity-appeasing effect.

Edward fancied he caught a glimpse of relief in the stolid woman's eyes before she closed them, laying her head back and taking a deep breath.

"See to the others, Edward," she commanded.


----------------

That's interesting...

Morgana made a mental note to demand more from Edward. He had a tendency to freeze up temporarily, but when it came down to it, he functioned better than expected. The female hybrid, however...

She was obviously the weaker one of the pair, when Morgana had fully assumed her to be the stronger, given her background. Time and again, Jane had proven fragile, unreliable. However, when things had become rather precarious in the wood, she had most definitely been essential to their success and survival, for that matter.

Technically, it may not be the hybrid's fault, for Morgana knew of the offspring growing inside of her. It would be quite interesting to see what sort of progeny sprung from her hybrids, whether the traits she had cultivated in the pair would be more or less concentrated in their young. But for now, it was only creating a liability.

Morgana would have to give this further thought. The fetus may have to be terminated if it rendered Jane entirely useless to Morgana's cause. Renette might point out that this would incite the hybrids to rebellion, likely making them more than just worthless but a hindrance with which she would be forced to deal with harshly.

Which would be a shame...

Edward had roused Jane from her faint. No doubt he was afraid to deal with the mess that was Renette at the moment, especially on his own and after the assignment he had just completed, that of tucking Morgana's guts back into her body.

She checked her belly again, remembering the horrible feeling of being disemboweled by her own saw. It was one of the more traumatic experiences she had suffered over the years, although not the most painful. That would have to be the three and a half times she had been burned alive. They never seemed to finish the job for some reason, and she always recovered, as she had this time. There was not even a hint on her flesh that she had been near cut in half.

Her strength returning, she tried to rise t her feet, sliding about a bit in the large pool of her own blood. She quit when she got to her knees, feeling the light-headed dizziness of massive blood loss. Her body was quite adept at healing itself expeditiously, but even it could not replace the fluids that had spilled out of her like a fountain within just a matter of minutes.

She crawled the few feet over to a cupboard that had thankfully remained in tact through the violent outburst. Reaching a hand up, she felt around the shelf for the familiar items she sought, swearing when she stabbed her finger on a syringe.

The outburst startled the pair huddled in an embrace Morgana herself hadn't experienced the like of for at least a century. And she wasn't jealous of whatever bond the two hybrids thought they shared, for Morgana had loved one like that, and discovered it was not as eternal or immutable as lovers always thought it to be. She pitied them, their youth, their naiveté. But she would make their lives serve a purpose. And that's more than what most pathetic persons on the planet could claim.

Noticing Morgana's watchful gaze, Edward scurried over to the detritus that had previously been Renette and some of Morgana's best preserved specimens. Damn! That collection was irreplaceable! It had taken decades to accumulate, catalog and analyze.

Well, there was nothing for it now...

Tend to her self, and then check on the still living creation of her nemesis. This setback would not prevent her plans from moving forward. She took a glass jar from the stock pile of her blood in the cold cupboard, and fixed a line into her arm vein.

She grabbed another, larger container of her blood, as well as line and hollow needle, in case Renette needed a transfusion to aide her recovery. Having a needle in one arm and needing the other hand to hold her bottle of blood, Morgana called to the apparently restored Jane to collect the supplies she had laid out on a tray.

Feeling much improved by the added vital fluids, Morgana managed to get to her feet. She stood over where Edward had managed to separate Renette's limp body from that of the medical and specimen debris and placed her on her back on a cleaner portion of the blood splattered floor. Her loyal servant didn't look to be in all that good of shape, but Morgana had seen her suffer worse.

No doubt her attendance would speed the woman's recovery, but Morgana was curious to see how the hybrids would fend by themselves. So, she turned her back on her three minions, to deal with the once again sedated creature.

Such an interesting feat of science, those creatures of his. How did he manage it? Damn, he was good. These brutes were far beyond her paltry experiments with blood transfusions and tissue grafting. The effects of transfusions were only temporary. Once the cells had cycled through, dying off as all cells did, there were no more left. Renette and Paul would require transfusions for as long as Morgana desired them to live, which had been a very long time, and if she didn't figure out his plans, would be much longer. She relied heavily on the pair, and losing them would be like losing an arm. Worse, she could always reattach a severed appendage and be good as new...

Still, she had begun the hybrid experiment, knowing the flaws in her first creations. If she had the interest, maybe she would've given them grafts of her own marrow. But Morgana had no interest in possessing self-sustaining creatures. She would have no control over them if they didn't need her to live.

But it was feasible. The serum she had developed would work on any immune system, tricking their bodies into accepting whatever foreign tissue she felt like grafting into them. Instead she had opted on creating underlings with valuable abilities and skills, ones that would useful in a fight.

Of course, she had never known that he had been working on werewolves. How could she? True, she had felt that he was nearby for quite a while, but she didn't really believe in that ridiculous type of intuition and never investigated further. It had no basis in fact, reality. And those were the ultimate weapons she'd employ, knowledge, science, power...

But she would need both creatures they had captured...and needed them alive, which may become problematic considering the prolonged exposure of the lupine's chest cavity, which was still cracked open. Its heart had slowed but she could still hear its rhythmic thump thump.

thump thump

Vivisection: perhaps inhumane, but necessary to her research. She needed to see how the creatures worked. Then and only then would she fins their undoing. Unfortunately, the exposure to this particular specimen had become uncontrolled. Infection would no doubt set in and claim its life.

Morgana stared at the great incapacitated beast, weighing her options, trying to decide whether she should attempt administering antibiotics, or whether that would skew her study.

A loud noise startled her, and made the hybrids jump where they still sat tending to the unconscious woman on the laboratory floor. It was Paul, bursting through the great metal doors. He looked shocked and angry as he shouted.

"What the hell happened in here?!"

-------------------

Was he an idiot?!

Why did he ever expect the carnage to stop? And yet every time he encountered more, he was shocked by it, thoroughly, devastatingly shocked. If he wanted to look on the bright side, at least it meant that perhaps part of him was still human.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Paul," Morgana's icy calm voice cut through the still air. "Go back to your chamber."

"Damn that!" he replied fiercely and then hesitated. Morgana knew he would never leave just because she had sent him to his room like an errant little boy. She was playing him, provoking him, just to see how far he could be pushed. The heartless bitch!

And Renette...all the while she was laying on floor, unconscious or worse!

Why hadn't he run to the laboratory as soon as he heard the ruckus?! Why had he assumed it was just more work of his exhausted mind, of his fitful sleep and terrible dreams?

He should've come to their aide earlier, he should've helped them, he should've prevented Renette from being injured.

Paul crouched down beside Jane, next to Renette's broken body. It looked nasty, but unfortunately he had seen far worse. And fortunately he had seen the resilient woman recover from far worse. Obviously Morgana was not planning on doing anything more to help her most loyal and essential servant which both confused and angered him.

Then again, why should he ever expect the cruel mistress to develop a heart. But if she had any reminant of compassion, Paul would've have figured it to be on Renette's behalf. He scoffed as he stared at the focus of his hatred,  the woman to which he possessed the most twisted and sickening of bonds. Of course the /lady/ was not tending to Renette. A pathway to her revenge was lying right in front of her, in all its grotesque glory. He didn't care to know what she had done, what new demented plans her contorted mind was currently conjuring.

He didn't even want to be in the same vicinity as her. Yet he could not leave her entirely.

And then there was Renette.

Renette who currently needed his assistance. He had to admit, Jane and Edward had performed a decent job, removing her from the mess she most apparently had been the center of, and starting her a transfusion of what was no doubt Morgana's blood. Hers was always a little darker, no matter how long ago it had been drawn, just as the fluid that he had seen spill from her body on several occassions. Even now he could differentiate Morgana's contribution to the gore covering the room like a fresh coat of paint, albiet by an inexperienced hand of a questionable artist. Hers was the pool of blood retaining its glossy sheen, seeming not to coagulate or dry up as most blood did, and yet it would be more viscous to the touch, its clotting and healing abilities far superior to any normal human plasma. Neither did it ever seemed to turn to a rust-color despite its higher concentration of iron.

The woman wasn't human. But Paul no longer cared. At least he tried to tell himself that.

"Here, I'll take her," Paul announced to the pair tending to she that confused him more than the demon lady they both served. Edward nodded his head, but Jane looked momentarilly hesitant.

"She'll be fine," Paul reassured the girl with an authoritative look. He let his affection for Renette show through ever so slightly, which seemed to be more effective in convincing the unfortunate girl turned experiment. Given his apparent willing service to such a loathsome creature as Morgana, Paul couldn't blame Jane for being distrustful of him. She offered the container of blood she had been holding, as it slowly flowed down through a rubber line and hollow steel needle into Renette's veins.

Unthinkingly, Paul reached out with his bandaged arm and grasped the glass container in his seemingly normal hand. It shattered between his fingers, shards of glass and fluid falling to the floor, adding a new dimension to the Rorschach [invented 1921-inappropriate metaphor for steampunk feel?] that was Jane's skirts. She yelped, jumping back in surprise.

Paul turned to Edward, his own eyes probably as wide with shock and fear as the boys.

"Are you alright?" the young man asked, looking concerned and amazed.

"Yeah," Paul muttered, staring intently at his hand while forming and unforming a fist and wiggling his fingers. "Must've misjudged the pressure....reconstructed tendons, muscles and all..."

He knew it was more than that, but he didn't especially want his imagination to run away on him. It had quite a broad foundation upon which to build for all he had witnessed in Morgana's service. So instead he shook it off. He'd deal with whatever the hell the witch had done to him later.

"Quick, get a bandage!" he ordered Jane. She jumped to her feet like a cat, made to run and do his bidding and then hesitated.

"The third set of drawers from the left, two down!" Paul directed. He saw Edward's nose twitch, and then the boy turned his head away. It had been a long time ago, but Paul vaguely remembered when Morgana's especially metallic-smelling blood had bothered him, even with all the carnage of the battles he had fought in, it wasn't the same stench as regular blood. And it had taken an awful lot of getting used to...

Within a minute, he had the needle out of Renette's vein, and her limp form scooped up into his arms, this time being more mindful of his 'injury.'

-------------------

"Jane?"

She was stirred from her fitful sleep with fresh tears still wetting her face. It had been a bad couple of days. It had been a bad couple of weeks, months, hell, years. Actually, it had been pretty much an awful life up to this point. And things weren't exactly looking up, either.

However, Edward, as always, was at her side. God, he could be suffocating at times, with his unwavering affection. But this time, Jane would take practically anything that would render even a semblance of solace.

She unburied her face from the pillow, to look at her lover through tear-blurred eyes. Lover! Such a word, the kind of word her mother would've used. The thought disgusted her and made her want to push Edward away...yet again. But she knew, deep down that it wasn't the same thing as what her mother had, or never had, as it were.

Basically throwing herself at him in an uncharacteristic manner, she practically knocked the young man over, but he caught her safely in his arms and hugged her close.

"Let's get out of this godless place, Ed," she pleaded. "Please! My soul is dying here."

"Whoa, whoa, Jane," he tried to comfort her, rocking her gently, mulling over her words, trying to comprehend her thoughts, their origins. Desperately, he wanted to understand his Jane, heal her pain. However, he just could never quite seem to wrap his own unburdened mind around her agony. It seemed to center around her religious self; something that if he ever did possess, he had lost.

The bible hadn't revealed much more insight into his beloved's demons, either. It was an entertaining set of stories, and held some interesting thoughts on love, hate, and revenge amongst other human fallacies. Edward had set to reading it cover to cover upon learning of its existence from Jane. Odd that the 'word of God' sounded like it had been penned by some of his supposed vastly inferior creations.

"Why would our lives be better someplace else?" Edward inquired softly, afraid of instigating an adverse reaction in the mercurial young woman.

"These people walk with the devil!" Jane exclaimed, pulling away from her comforter. "I wouldn't be surprised if this dreadful castle was a portal to Hell itself."

"It's kind of damp and cold," Edward conceded. "But I don't think it's so bad here. We've got warm beds and plenty of food, and the company's not so bad."

"Not so bad?!" She parroted in disbelief. "I'm not so sure about her underlings, but that witch has no soul!"

Lines furrowed Edward's forehead, his youthful skin developing more wrinkles than an old man's well-worn hide. It was apparent to him through her tear stained cheeks, her clenched jaw and fists, and the deep sorrow and fear in her eyes.

"If God is goodness and love and joy..." Edward spoke his doubts aloud but in barely more than a whisper, hoping Jane would have an answer for him (one that he could fathom) even while not believing it was the case. "...then how could he possibly wish you to live in such fear and sadness, to suffer so much pain that your faith creates in you?"

Her first instinct was to anger, as most devout turn when their beliefs are questioned. However, they had been down that road before. And yet every time she lashed out at Edward, pushed him away, derided him, he came back. How many more times could she push her luck before he decided that it was too much effort to love her?

Instead, she took a breath, and did something she rarely tried. Jane met the eyes of her lover, and she did not look away. Rather, she searched them for his intent, finally moving past her own selfish thoughts to consider his. And she had been wrong to ever be angry with him. This, she knew for certain upon discovering the lost, questioning, naive little boy struggling to be the young man those around him expected. Just like those masters of this wretched place that she loathed so vehemently, she had placed heavy demands and burdens upon the most innocent of all who resided in the castle walls. She was not the victim whose pure white soul had been corrupted.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, placing a gentle kiss upon his cheek. It was a touch she had not granted him in a long while, a punishment for her own weakness of flesh. But he had no concept of sin, not really, not even after reading that by which she had tried to guide her existence. To him, the kiss was like a treat to a child deprived sweets all his life. And he smiled just as widely as a poor neglected child would when presented with such an indulgent delicacy.

"What for?" He asked after her words finally registered in his brain.

"Vanity is a sin, too," she replied, knowing she had put her own misery ahead of the needs of everyone around her... of the life growing inside of her. It would take time, but she still would try to convince Edward to leave this evil place with her. Only, she would now do so for his sake, for their child's sake, and not just her own...

-------------------

Sunlight trickled down through the canopy of leaves, spreading a mottled black shadow over the plush green moss of the forest floor. It was not unlike the most exquisite lace she had ever laid eyes upon, and she marveled as the patterns danced over her bare toes. Closing her eyes for a moment, she reveled in the soft lush cushion beneath her footsteps, the hush it bestowed upon the place so brimming with life. The birds, however, were not bound to the moss' purview, and continued their twittering far above her head.

There was never, nor would there ever be such a beautiful place as this wood at this moment.

Of course, perhaps her mood skewed her perception of it, and it would not be quite so beautiful to someone else. However, that did not stop it from being a truth, if it were only just her own...

But it wasn't.

She opened her eyes once more, too eager to withstand being deprived of the rest of her ecstasy. For the wonder of the moment was not just the light in the trees, the song of the birds, her joy.

It was also him.

...

Morgana awoke, her lungs feeling like they were being crushed, her head threatening to explode.

She screamed.

She screamed not because it alleviated the pain, but only because she no longer had the energy or will to contain the rage, the agony.

The dreams.

The dreams never stopped.

If it weren't for those damned dreams, perhaps her heart would've healed-scarred, yes, but not with great, gaping holes. Instead she awoke each day with the pain anew, like a fresh wound or one that kept reopening. If she did not know it to be beyond his capabilities, she would've sworn that it was his doing, that it was he who continued to drive a knife into the vulnerable sore, slashing it wide so that the blood poured forth and the ache sliced through her without end.

It was as if her soul had been torn to pieces and small splinters of it left behind, working their way about inside of her, festering and growing putrid, rotting her from the inside out.

And it hurt.

It hurt so much.

The bedside lamp suffered her wrath this particular morning, smashing the few remaining shards from a previously assaulted looking glass.

It didn't make her feel better.

Nothing would make her feel better, nothing short of making him suffer as she had. Part of her doubted whether it would be the release she so wholly desired, but she was beyond the capacity for seeing any other routes, let alone taking one.

"Don't worry about it, Renette," she barked, surfacing from her despair enough to notice the woman busying about cleaning up the shattered lamp. The girl knew...she always seemed to know which mornings would be worse than others for Morgana, and appeared without a word to clean up the mess. And that was Renette in a nutshell; the one who cleaned up Morgana's mess.

Unfortunate that she hadn't been around back then, that she hadn't the power to clean up the real mess that was Morgana's existence. The girl who was her closest companion had no idea of what had turned her heart so hard and wrathful, and she would never tell her. There was no precise reason for terseness. In fact it was quite illogical to keep the incidents that had led to her centuries-old vendetta secret. Maybe she feared that Renette would not understand. Or worse, she would understand and pity her. And being viewed as a pathetic creature deserving of pity was the last thing Morgana wished to be.

In fact, it was the reason she had turned to revenge, which she supposed was, in fact, a twisted form of self-pity.

Morgana threw back the covers, and jumped out of her large, soft, and dreadfully empty bed. The cold floor was a welcome shock to her bare feet, pushing any notions of self-examination from her mind, snapping her back to her complicated plots and extravagant plans.

Today, she would make real progress. The last couple of days had been rough, with Renette's injury and the loss of one of their live specimens. But she still had plenty of data to study and experimentation to attempt.

"I said it's fine, Renette," She ordered again upon seeing the woman still on her hands and knees, collecting shards of glass. Morgana sighed. "There's another matter I want you to attend to."

Renette looked up, and Morgana swore there was just a bit of anxiety flashing in those stoic brown eyes of hers. Sometimes, she wondered if that treatment hadn't bestowed some psychic gift upon the girl, instead of just wiping her slate clean, for she seemed to be anticipating her next orders. And although Morgana's world centered upon her only, most pressing goal, once in a while she did concern herself with trifling matters outside of herself, such as that the only thing that seemed to conjure an emotional reaction from her most loyal assistant was another one of her specially-honed tools.

"I think it’s about time Paul were acquainted with his new gift," she announced, matter-of-factly, turning to rifle through her closet while keeping a keen eye on her assistant's reaction. And it was just as she had expected-all appearance of composure, but was that panic underneath the stony facade? It must be for there was a significant pause before a reply came.

"Yes, mistress."

Morgana mused to herself over the hesitancy in her steadfast girl who always jumped at her orders and rushed to carry out her requests. Never would she have guessed when she had sent the girl to Paul's bed that such a development would emerge. Of course, she had anticipated an attachment on his side. That was why she had schemed for Renette to capture his fancy. She had witnessed his slipping from her own hold, ever since he saw some of her failed experiments before she had put them out of their misery.

No, this development may not be beneficial at all. There was a reason for Renette's stoic demeanor, her stone heart. And as interesting as it might be to see what outcome may arise from the collision of such elements, Paul might pull Renette from Morgana's side. And seeming how they repelled each other, she doubted her bond with the girl could coexist with his.

The closet seemed to contain nothing suitable for the day. All of her best work clothes were waiting to be laundered, and all that remained were her various outing, formal, and evening wear. And there, hiding in the back, she spied it. The sight of it sickened her. The thought of burning it had crossed her mind many a time, but she never could do it. The garment had been saved time and again, not for fond memories, not for bitter ones. It had been for the simple fact that it was so entwined with her identity.

Oh, it would be adorned again, one day, the day. He would see her in it and know the reason for his destruction.

But until that day, the sight of it would continue to make her ill. Hastily she hid it once more, and settled upon an old chemise with an apron that went over the head and fastened at the waist. It covered her so completely that she felt assured a simple chemise beneath would suffice enough against the cold of her laboratory. Its pockets also recommended it.

She bound up her hair and falling to a rare moment of physical vanity, examined her image in her chamber's surviving looking glass. Not the best attire for her short, curvy figure, but it could be far worse. She was never called fat, but she would never merit the tall, elegant goddesses that seemed to be consistently preferred through time. And she had never succumbed to any of the body-shaping fashions. Most definitely, she did not fancy this modern wasp waist fad with all its corsetry. All those restraints made the body weak. A strong body could stand on its own.

And she made sure hers was capable of whatever she needed it to do, which she hoped included handling massive wolf like creatures on her own.