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Morrigan Crow had heard the bells ring. Morrigan Crow would die on her eleventh birthday. On Eventide. She always knew the fact, it was inevitable. Morrigan still didn’t like the feeling in her stomach that accompanied her anxiety. She wished it would be done with fast.
She appreciated the dinner cooked that night, all her favorite foods. Of course it never distracted from her inevitable demise. No amount of food would.
Will it be painless? Morrigan wondered.
She walked through the Hall of Dead Crows, as she’d dubbed it. Morrigan would soon join the Hall of Dead Crows paintings too. What if I become a ghost and have to watch Grandmother and Corvus and Ivy and her baby in the afterlife?
Dreadful thought. Morrigan added as an afterthought.
The Hall of Dead Crows became boring after a bit.
Morrigan gloomily walked to her room, where two envelopes were sitting on her bed. She blinked.
"Ezra Squall wishes to presents his bid for Miss Morrigan Crow." she read aloud quietly. Her stomach did three backflips. The anonymous bid was back, with a name. Mr. Jones was real, it wasn’t all just a prank.
She read the other envelope. "Jupiter North of the Wundrous Society wishes to present his bid for M-Miss Morrigan Crow." Morrigan hated that stutter, but her emotions were taking the wheel now.
She considered the maniacal idea of actually signing either contract. That she wouldn’t have to die so early. That Morrigan Crow could live until she was eighty years old and die in a black coffin of her choosing. That Morrigan Crow wouldn’t be a curse on anyone.
But this wasn’t that universe.
It would never be.
Morrigan's tossed both envelopes in the fire, unopened. She watched them char and burn away, leaving nothing but ashes. A familiar warmth, just like that familiar dread that set at the bottom of her stomach.
Morrigan sat on the edge of her bed, looking out a tiny window. It was awfully dark, even compared to the walls of her room. The fire sparked up for a moment, disappearing again.
"Happy birthday to me." she said. Morrigan laid down, counting the sheep for the final time.
The shadows in her room grew darker with time, which Morrigan hadn’t noticed in her sleep.
Morrigan had had so many thoughts in the years before. Is Death always stalking behind me, waiting to strike me with his scythe? Am I going to trip and end up in the Better place? Or worse…
Morrigan woke up, deep red eyes staring directly at her from across the room. She scrambled out of bed, running out the room and tripping down the stairs. It felt like it had been an eternity before she felt a different feeling. Like she was being drowned by a deep, black ocean. Morrigan tried to cry out, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead she closed her eyes. "Happy birthday to me." she whispered again.
She didn’t open her eyes.