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Images flashes on the screen, the reporter’s voice a clinical, lifeless report of facts that Misty prays aren’t true. But it comes on. Again and again. And every time, the news feels more real.
Misty Fey woke up without a part of her this morning. She felt it in her bones, she felt it deep, deep in her heart. Every inch of her skin burned with loss and longing. Misty couldn’t be sure of what had happened, but she knew from experience that it could only mean tragedy and death. It was the grimmest feeling she knew, and one that had never left her at peace. It only lies dormant and when it surfaces again, it feels like a direct stab to the heart. Misty turned on the TV and watched the news channel, useless reports after useless reports on the off chance that whatever was twisting her guts was news major enough to be broadcast. When you’re pretending to be invisible, you can’t very well come out of your hiding place and ask what happened? But what she found out, she couldn’t believe at first.
This isn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
When Misty left, it tore her inside but all these years, she held onto the fact that at least, at the very least the ones she left behind would be fine.
Today, she learns that she was wrong. She was so terribly and tragically wrong. She could have protected them. She should have protected them.
Misty wishes it wasn’t true. She wishes she didn’t know. More than anything, she wishes she could turn back in time. But in a reporter’s mouth is the name of her firstborn daughter, her profession, her age. Twenty-seven. Misty can hardly breathe. Twenty-seven.
When Mia was born, Misty couldn’t believe she had that much love in her. She couldn’t believe how overwhelming it all was. Mia took her breath away and Misty isn’t sure she ever got it back. Mia took a part of her and Misty would have given her a hundred more. She would have given her everything had it been possible.
Today, Misty can’t believe anyone can survive the pain of losing a child. She can’t believe how harrowing and crushing it is. She can’t believe she’s still breathing at all, she can’t believe her heart is still beating when Mia’s isn’t. Misty would have given her life to save Mia’s. And she thought she had.
Her eyes are fixed on the screen but Misty doesn’t see anything. The sinking feeling becomes unendurable as Misty realizes one irremediable truth after another, her brain struggling to make sense of the unthinkable.
A defense attorney was found dead. A blow to the head, fatal. In her office. Mia Fey. Twenty-seven.
Her sister is accused. She’s the culprit. She did it. Maya Fey. Seventeen.
The Prosecutor is a big name. The Demon Prosecutor. Miles Edgeworth. Edgeworth.
Is it fate? Is it a curse? Seven billion people, and it had to be those names.
Tears still stream down Misty’s face when she tries to take the next step. She rummages through her belongings. She doesn’t have much from the life she forsake, but she did keep the Master’s talisman and a magatama with her. Misty hasn’t channeled in so long. But as she finally finds her magatama, joins her hands and struggles to control her breathing, she comes to an abrupt stop. To channel someone, you need to know their name and face. Misty hasn’t seen Mia in over a decade and the image on the screen… Misty clears it out of her mind. That is one image she doesn’t want to see. That is one image she wishes she had never seen.
Misty feels her shoulders slump. And as the initial grief and pain and impulsiveness wears off, the tears stop and Misty’s breath is taken away once more at one pinpointed important question.
Do I have the right to call for my daughter right now?
The first question triggers a second and a third and a fourth, neverending. Does she even have the right to call Mia her daughter right now? Mia is dead. There will be a ceremony, there will be a funeral; arrangements will have to be made. Does Misty even have the right to attend her funeral? If she called for Mia right now, if she channeled her, what would she write to her? No words can describe how Misty feels. No words are enough to erase all the pain Misty inflicted upon Mia.
And now Mia is dead.
Misty’s throat tightens and she closes her eyes, turning away from the TV entirely. But she can still hear it. Everything. Twenty-seven. How can it be? Seventeen. Misty's entire being aches with sorrow as she feels the loss of her daughters all over again. She shuts out the TV but it gets worse. Now she stands at the gate once more, eyes fixed on Fey manor as Morgan says Don't burden me with the consequences. Morgan was supposed to keep them safe. Morgan was supposed to take care of them. That's what Misty wants to think but deep down, she knows. She was supposed to keep her own daughters safe.
Her daughters.
Misty opens her eyes again, traces her eyes over the wooden floor as the smallest glint of hope presents itself before her.
Maya.
Maya is still here. She’s still alive. Misty drops her magatama and reaches for her payphone. She’s not sure who to call, she’s not sure which number could get her through but if she called Kurain, maybe she could be redirected to Maya. Maybe. Just maybe. Misty would take a maybe right now. She would figure out something, a reason to call Maya. She doesn’t have to say who’s calling. She’ll make up something. If anything, she’s good at making up stories.
But then, Misty realizes. She left a baby. She left a two-year-old who could barely walk and talk but who always smiled so wide. So why? Why was the teenager’s mugshot on the screen so sad and gray? Seventeen. She was just a baby. Seventeen. Does Misty have any right to come back into Maya’s life like she wasn’t a stranger to her youngest?
Misty holds her breath as she slowly realizes.
You’re too late. You’re fifteen years too late.
The Master’s talisman has never felt as heavy, it has never scratched and seared her skin so strongly. Misty takes it out from her robes but doesn’t find it in her to untie the string, to look at the picture. Misty couldn’t stand to see their faces. She couldn’t. Instead, she closes her eyes and squeezes the talisman until her knuckles go white.
Go home, Misty says.
I can’t, Elise says.
Your daughter is dead. You have to bury your child, Misty says.
I can’t, Elise says.
Your daughter is grieving. You have to be there for your child, Misty says.
I can’t, Elise says.
You promised you’d come back if they ever needed you, Misty says. You promised you’d be there for them if they ever needed you. You promised me.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, Elise says, angry and accusing. Because you left and now she’s dead.
Misty takes a deep breath, pushes the grief away as much as is possible. It lingers, it burns, its claws digging into her heart and tearing it apart, but she needs to ignore it. She is Elise Deauxnim. This is the curse she inflicted upon herself. This is her burden.
She will not bury her child. She will not say her final goodbyes to her. Mia will never know how sorry her mother is. Mia will never know how proud she is either.
She will never get to meet Maya. She will never get to know the person she became. She will never be a mother to her.
Come on, Misty. Quench the flames of hope. Raise your head up high as you do. Even in hiding, you're a Fey.
Elise will stay in hiding, guilty of everything and more.
When she left, Misty promised herself she would go back home if Mia and Maya ever needed her. She always felt she would come home eventually and she got close to stepping on a train to Kurain so many times.
But today, as she grieves a daughter she abandoned long ago and can hardly recognize
But today, as her heart aches for a daughter she can’t recognize at all
Misty knows she will never come home.