Chapter Text
Morgan felt like a monster.
No, worse than a monster. Despite her mom's sweet and bubbly demeanor, Morgan knew that against a dragon or a troll, she'd fight back--she was tougher than she seemed. Against her own daughter though?
Morgan felt certain that a blast of dragonfire wouldn't have wounded her mom as much being coldly branded with the title of stepmother. The instant the word was out of her mouth, she knew she'd gone too far. And yet, there had been no anger or retribution lobbed her way. Only a deep hurt that Morgan had just caught as she'd turned to stalk up to her room. She'd only caught a glimpse, but the image was burned into her brain--the way her mom's face had crumpled like tissue paper. It was awful. And now she was singing, which was even worse.
Not the act of singing itself--Giselle had a lovely voice and despite leaning into her teenaged exasperation, Morgan was privately still very fond of her mom's spontaneous singing as long as she kept it at home. No, the problem was the words of the song itself.
I thought I'd found a place
Where I could make things better,
But all I did was change where I would fail.
Another stab of guilt pierced through Morgan's heart. Sure, she wasn't thrilled about the move, but she hated that her mom was thinking of herself as a failure when all she wanted was for things to be cheerful and simple the way that things had been when she was six years old and believing in magic was as easy as breathing. Now that it was around her all the time, she took it for granted. Worse, depending on the day, she could feel it grating on her. And not just the magic. It was the unrelenting positivity, the gentle attempts at encouragement, the constant upbeat singing.
Morgan felt another stab of guilt. She hated how moody she felt. She didn't dislike any of those things. In fact, it was the opposite. Those are the things that made Giselle, Giselle. Her mother. She'd never want to change her. But in those moments, when her annoyance boiled over, it was hard to remember that. And now--
Oh, what do I do if I don't belong
Where life can never be a fairy tale?
Where life can never be a fairy—
She peeked out the window and watched Giselle sigh heavily and head inside. Morgan rushed to the side of her room and cracked the door so she could listen. She heard nothing but footsteps as Giselle returned to the master suite. Morgan's eyebrows shot up in alarm. Leaving a song unfinished? That was extremely un-Andalasian.
The thought of how upset her mom must be to abruptly stop singing mid-ballad made Morgan's stomach churn with a new helping of guilt--guilt she knew she deserved. Why had she said that? Why had she even thought it? Why was she like this?
She shook her head and opened the door all the way. She had to make it up to her mom. She had to apologize. She didn't mean it. Of course she didn't mean it. Giselle knew that, right? She had to. But the stricken look on her mom's face flashed in her head and the guilt in her stomach was joined by a sprinkle of doubt.
Morgan reached the door of her parents' bedroom and poised to knock, rapidly trying to figure out the best combination of words to string together to make "I'm sorry'' sound proportionate to "She is not my mother." But as she raised her fist, she heard two sounds that made her freeze: Her dad's voice, low and comforting but unintelligible through the solid, wooden door and soft sobs, unmistakably her mom's. She dropped her hand and stared at the door, her eyes burning hot like they had during their one sided argument but with her own tears this time, not anger.
I'm probably the last person she wants to see right now, Morgan thought, backing away from the door. As soon as Giselle had entered their lives, her dad had transformed from a skeptical lawyer to an indulgent softie. He was who Giselle would want right now. He never snapped at her--at most he'd smile and shake his head fondly. How had she become the top skeptic in the family?
She walked away aimlessly, finding herself in the kitchen. On a side table sat yet another reminder of how awful she felt--the Wand of Wishes. Her baby sister's birthday present. It wasn't that she was jealous--or at least not in an evil stepsister kind of way. But Sofia was Giselle's daughter. Her real daughter--flesh and blood. It stung to feel there was an exclusive club that she was being boxed out of for reasons beyond her control. Maybe that's why she'd said what she'd said. As soon as she had the thought, she discarded it. Not a good enough reason to say such a cruel thing. Not a good enough reason to hurt the kindest person she knew on purpose.
The wand looked innocuous enough. If she didn't know better, she'd think it was a part of some kind of expensive playset or a costume accessory. But Halloween wands didn't usually come with a scroll full of instructions and they definitely weren't delivered via well portal. She ran a finger down the smooth wood, finding it cooler to the touch than she'd imagined. Unlimited wishes. What a present. It beat a car, that was for sure. But a car was something she could use, unlike this wand. True Andalasians only--the song had been very specific. There was no point in wanting the wand for herself because she could use it all she liked and nothing would happen.
But if she could use it...
The same image from before popped into her mind: her mom's shocked face. Her quiet sobs rang in Morgan's ears. The song left unfinished, like the magic had drained right out of her.
She'd do anything to stop making her mom feel sad. To get herself in check. To give her the fairy tale life she'd given up to be with them. With her.
She closed her eyes.
I wish...
But then she sighed and pulled back. Wishing was pointless.
Tomorrow, she thought. I'll make it up to Mom tomorrow.
She shut the wand's case and went to bed.