This piece was submitted for our online fanfiction writing challenge and was inspired by the Nevermoor series by Jessica Townsend. 

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With another huff, Morrigan tried for the third time in five minutes to relax her shoulders. It had taken numerous cookies snuck from the kitchen and a ten-minute-long pep talk from Jack, but she finally stood before Jupiter’s study. Jack, though he didn’t quite know why Morrigan needed to speak to his uncle, had grown tired of her anxious pacing and downright miserable mood (“Honestly, looking at you is giving me a headache” he had said, covering the eye that wasn’t shielded by an eyepatch). He settled to give her very vague, if still supportive advice, before literally pushing her down the halls of the Hotel Deucalion to the study.

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Now alone in front of the door, she contemplated turning around and forgetting it. It was only her promise to Jack that she would actually talk to Jupiter (and the fact that he was watching her from the end of the hall) that kept her from booking it. She stared at the door again, trying to calm herself enough to enter.

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The door was gaudy, if only because everything in the hotel was. If she had been presented with it when she was younger, before she had been brought to Nevermoor, before she’d even met Jupiter, it may have intimidated her. Her father’s office door was of similar height and decorum, intricate details of nothing in particular carved into the wood; details that she had spent hours memorizing as she waited outside to speak with him or inside to listen to a lecture or report. But here, she could take in the details of this door without anxiety.

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The pattern held a mix of flowers (she wanted to say lavender and daisies, but she couldn’t be certain) and assorted birds. She recognized a few swans and sparrows, though others seemed foreign to her. Still, she managed a grin at the sight of a crow nestled near the top. The wood between the door handle and frame was chipped, not from slamming shut, but from being burst open as Jupiter rushed off to his next WunSoc job or League of Explorers assignment. At the bottom of the door, a few cat hairs were caught, telling her Fenestra had recently passed through. As head of housekeeping, but also a giant Magnificat, she often purposely “missed” her fur when cleaning if she was annoyed with someone, which happened to be almost always. Morrigan took the time to wonder how long it would be left there.

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Jack cleared his throat obnoxiously from down the hall and Morrigan resisted rolling her eyes at him. With a final deep breath, she pushed the door open, slipping inside.

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As soon as she entered, she was struck with the scent of paper and ink. The tall bookshelves lining the walls of the small room framed the fireplace, with two well-loved armchairs settled by the centerpiece. Her eyes drifted past them to Jupiter’s desk. The worn wood was covered in papers and books, and Jupiter himself sat at the desk chair, leaning back casually. Already he was smiling at her, his welcoming grin peeking out from under his bright ginger beard. His suit jacket, turquoise today, laid over the back of his chair. She noted the bright pink dress shirt he sported, the eccentric outfit pulled together with a burgundy vest and burnt orange bowtie that nearly blended in with his beard. It seemed he had long since set aside his work, as his expression showed no surprise at her arrival.

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“I could see your worry from under the door, Mog.” His expression exposed his concern and she resisted looking away. “What’s got you bothered?”

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 Of course Jupiter had known she was there- Jack had said himself that her emotions were floating around her like a blinding swarm of colors. As a Witness, Jupiter, like his nephew, could see the emotions and experiences around any person or object. Jupiter had long ago explained how his knack meant he saw “true things”. Part of her wanted to grumble. Couldn’t he see what was wrong? but she knew it was unfair. There was a limit to all things, and besides, if Jack could get a headache even with one eye covered, she was sure Jupiter, even with years of training, must face at least some strain when looking closely.

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She hesitated a moment, wondering if she could still back out. Of course, she knew she couldn’t. Jupiter would only grow more worried for her and that’d just become bothersome.

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“I… would like to tell you about something,” Morrigan spoke cautiously, trained from years with her father that bringing up her displeasure in something would always be circled back to some failure on her part.

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How dare she complain about the cook, the woman wouldn’t say such cruel things to Morrigan if she hadn’t deserved it. How dare she blame someone else for the broken light, when she knew it was her curse that made it fall. How dare she ask for more, he was doing the best he could with her condition and here she was making things even more difficult.

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No matter that the cook continually called her a curse whenever the woman burned a casserole or dropped a pie, even when Morrigan never once stepped into the kitchen.

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No matter that it had been the cat who rushed past and bumped the lamp, causing it to smash against the carpet, left for her father to stumble upon.

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No matter that her father had not once in her eleven years shown any amount of care for her.

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No matter that back when they thought she only had a year to live, he had refused to find her a new teacher or counselor, saying that it’d be a waste of time and money.

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His words still echoed in her head some days. Personally, I think we never should have bothered in the first place. I’d be better off sending my hunting dogs to school; they’ve got a longer life expectancy and are much more useful to me. The memory nearly made it onto her face in the form of a scowl, but she held it back.

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Jupiter’s expression didn’t flash with displeasure or anger like her father’s often did and he didn’t straighten up to look down on her. Instead, Jupiter's gaze remained the same, if not more open, as he stood from his desk, not to intimidate, but to walk over to the leather chair and sit, gesturing to the other. She sat, settling into the familiar leather as Jupiter looked at her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even offer one of his usual jokes or diversions, instead waiting for her to speak. To have someone’s full and undivided attention (without it being due to their anger) was something she was still getting used to, and she steadied her eyes on Jupiter’s with only slight apprehension.

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“I’ve been thinking about… Professor Onstald.” Despite her growing comfort in the space, she broached the subject with care, watching his expression cautiously for a new reason. She had talked to Jupiter about the teacher before, though more often before the Turtlewun’s death than after it. Her teacher had been, for lack of better words, a terrible man (or terrible Wunimal, in this case). His bias against Wundersmiths like herself, though common for the people of Nevermoor, had led to hours of class time spent being told how terrible “her kind” was and that she would amount to nothing in the world. She had complained to Jupiter, as well as many of her friends on the hotel staff, about his class. Though never giving all the details, they knew much of what Morrigan had been told.

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She had memorized how the Wundersmith Decima Kokoro had drowned numerous people in an attempt to make a skyscraper out of water, how the Wundersmith Odbuoy Jemmity had made an amusement park in a poverty-stricken neighborhood and allowed no one into it, and how dozens of others had their own eccentric or destructive creations or paths. Of course, Jupiter had also shown her the truth of these things. Kokoro had not made a dangerous skyscraper but commissioned an art feature of waterfalls, and Jemmity’s theme park was only “inaccessible” to those who were not residents of the impoverished section of the city, an area where his commissioner had already demolished the homes of many citizens to make room for the park without consulting him. She had learned how many of the Wundersmiths had never been as bad as she had been told and it made her hate Onstald more.

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Then came the night at the Ghastly Market.

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Onstald had died a martyr to help not just Morrigan escape, but also the others who had been trafficked. He had sacrificed himself, and despite her opinion of him, she couldn’t help but be thankful.

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All this to say her (and Jupiter’s) feelings surrounding the man were… mixed.

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Jupiter’s expression changed, as expected, to one that was much more thoughtful. Still, he did not speak, gently gesturing for her to continue. Morrigan swallowed, looking into the cold fireplace. She wasn’t sure if it was right to bring it up now. It was one of her many hold-ups about talking to Jupiter about the professor at all; Onstald had died a hero and had shown his good heart beneath all that hate. Why sully his image now?

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She knew why, of course. She needed to talk about it because ever since his class, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was innately evil. Because ever since his class, she couldn’t spend a day without thinking for a moment that she might turn out despicable. Because ever since his class, she would have days when she remembered his words and wondered if she even belonged here. Because ever since his class…

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“He said something, on the first day.” She began, clasping her hands together in her lap. “When I asked him, um, where the other Wundersmiths were now- well, I specifically asked about Brilliance Amadeo, because she was the first name I read, and, uh…”

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She fidgeted, clearing her throat uselessly to try and get back on track. “He said… He said ‘Your kind are all dead. And if they’re not…’”

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She paused, allowing herself one last moment of hesitance.

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“‘They should be.’”

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Her eyes flew to her feet, then drifted back up when she heard Jupiter shift in his seat. His silence felt deafening, and his expression was that of intense focus, facing the vacant hearth. If she weren’t certain the fireplace was cold and empty, she would’ve thought it had spontaneously lit to reflect in his eyes- a barely contained fire that flitted across his expression until he had to turn away. She held back any assumptions about what part of it angered him, knowing…

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Hoping…

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“Mog…” His tone startled her, and her heart tightened even as her muscles relaxed. The concern that returned to invade his expression leaked into his words. “You don’t…”

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He finally looked at her, facing her fully with how he nearly leaned out of his chair. She didn’t need to be a Witness to know exactly what he felt. His eyes echoed that fatherly compassion she had learned over time to expect, alongside the deep sadness and still crackling anger that flowed through him, plus what could’ve been a million more emotions. Guilt was present there too, in a larger quantity than she could have expected. She saw, as his eyes searched her face, and more than that searched the colors around her, how he wondered how he could have missed something this big.

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“Do you believe that?” He spoke again, and his voice finally cracked, an odd thing to hear from him. She had been nearly killed so many times, told so many things that he helped her recover from- it felt surreal for this to be the point that left him like this, on a quiet day in his study.

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She opened her mouth, then closed it, tilting her head and again looking away. He stood suddenly, and she had to resist pulling away completely. Guilt chewed at her gut as he paused, hurt washing over his face for a moment before he continued his approach, slower this time. With gentle movements he kneeled before her, taking her hands in his. It reminded her of that dull spring morning when he told her of his knack, when he had told her what he saw in her. You are not a curse on anyone, Morrigan Crow. You never have been. And I think you’ve known that all along.

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“I don’t.” She said, and though her voice was weak, she meant it. “But…”

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She looked him in the eyes, shoulders finally falling with a defeated sigh. “Everyone else does.” 

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“I don’t, Mog,” Jupiter spoke suddenly, firmly, holding her hands tighter, his voice exposing a worried desperation. “Jack doesn’t. Or Fenestra, or Martha, or Frank, or anyone here, or Unit 919-”

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“I get it, Jupiter.” She stopped him, watching the panic fade somewhat from his expression, but not completely. “But you know that to the public, I’ll always be just… a dangerous Wundersmith.”

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“No, you won’t. You… You are one of the most brilliant people I know, one of the best people I know. One day, they’ll see that you aren’t some murderer or terrorist.”

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He stood, lifting her from the chair and pulling her into a hug. She froze for only a moment before hugging back so tight she might’ve been worried she’d break his ribs had she not been preoccupied with trying not to cry.

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“They will see you, Morrigan Crow. Like I do.”

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She let her tears flow quietly, head pressed against his chest. She took in the texture of his vest between her fingers as she gripped him tightly. As he held her, she heard his heartbeat thrumming and his steadying breaths.

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“But how long will it take?” She finally spoke, words muffled by his shirt, not wanting to pull away just yet. “How long do I have to prove myself?”

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“I don’t know, Mog.” It almost surprised her that he didn’t circle the answer like he might’ve at another time. “But it will happen.”

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She pulled back, a small, hopeful look sneaking onto her face even as another tear slid down her cheek. “Will it?”

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“I promise.”

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