Chapter Text
She had imagined it so many times. How it felt to be respected, loved, appreciated. All of the people that despised her looking at her with awe or stare in terror. But that's all it is, a small voice reasoned in her head, just a dream, created by imagination and nothing more.
"I can’t accept, Mr. Jones. I’m on the Cursed Children’s Register. I’m going... I’m going to... well, you know. Th-thank you for your time and—" "Open it," said Mr. Jones, nodding at the envelope in her hand."What is it?" "Your contract." Morrigan shook her head, confused.
"M-my what?" "It’s standard." He gave a tiny shrug. One shoulder. "Every child commencing sponsored studies must sign a contract, and have a parent or guardian sign also." Well, there goes that, Morrigan thought. "My father will never sign this."
"Let us worry about that." He pulled out a silver pen from his coat pocket and placed it on the table. "All you have to do is sign. Mr. Squall will take care of everything." "But you don’t understand, I can’t-" "I understand perfectly, Miss Crow." Mr. Jones watched her closely, his dark eyes piercing her own.
"But you needn’t worry about curses or registers or Eventide. You needn’t worry about anything, ever again. Not if you’re with Ezra Squall." "But-" "Sign." He nodded at the pen. "Sign, and I promise you: One day you will be able to buy and sell every person who has ever made you unhappy."
His glittering eyes and calm, secretive smile made Morrigan believe - just for a second - that he and Ezra Squall could somehow see a future for her that she had never dreamed possible. She reached for the pen, then hesitated. There was one last question burning inside her, the most important question of all.
She looked up at Mr. Jones."Why me?" She asked hesitantly. Mr. Jones looked at her, amused. "Well, that is Squall's question to answer. As his assistant, my job is not to understand his motives, but simply to fulfill his wishes." He explained patiently.
"But I can tell you this - Squall doesn't like to waste his time, and if he chooses to spend time on you, that means he knows it won't go to waste." Mr. Jones slightly pushed the pen into her hand. "So now sign it, and you could start living a life that until now, could only exist in your wildest dreams."
Morrigan took a deep breath, and then, before she could think too much, she took the silver pen and signed. She looked up to see Mr. Jones looking at her with a big big smile. "You made the right choice. Now let us worry about the parent signature, and I believe I will see at squall at industries soon."
Mr. Jones stood up and took the contract, and then morrigan heard a loud knock and turned around to see the door swing open and the Lord Mayor stumbling in, looking harassed.
"I’m terribly sorry, Miss Crow," he said, pressing a handkerchief to his forehead. His suit bore sweat patches, and what was left of his hair stood on end. "Somebody appears to have played a horrible prank on you. On all of us."
"P-prank?" Corvus stalked in behind him, his mouth in a thin line. "There you are. We’re leaving." He grabbed Morrigan’s arm, pulling her out of the room. Her chair tipped over and clattered to the floor.
"None of your so-called bidders have arrived," said the Lord Mayor, trying to catch his breath as he followed them into the hallway. "I blame myself. I should have realized Harmon Military whatsit, Devereaux Ladies’ thingy... nobody’s heard of them. Made up, you see." He looked desperately from Morrigan to her father and back again. "Terribly sorry for putting you through it, Corvus, old friend. No hard feelings, I hope?" Corvus glowered at the Lord Mayor.
"But wait-" began Morrigan. "Don’t you understand?" said her father in a cold, angry voice. "I have been made a fool. It was all somebody’s idea of a joke. Humiliated! By my own constituency!" Morrigan frowned. "You’re saying that my bidders-" The Lord Mayor wrung his hands. "Never actually existed. That’s why none of them showed up. I’m sorry you had to wait." "But I’m trying to tell you, one of them did show up. Mr. Jones has come on behalf—” Morrigan stopped mid-sentence as she dashed back into the interview room. His chair was empty. No pen, no contract. He’d disappeared. Morrigan gaped at the empty space. Had Mr. Jones slipped out while they’d been arguing? Or had he just been playing a prank on her as well?
Of course it was a joke. Why would one of the most powerful people in the republic want her, a cursed child, to be his apprentice? His heir?
Morrigan might have walked away just like the original time, embarrassed from being fooled, nothing will ever be the same as then.
She signed, she agreed, and Ezra Squall was going to hold her up to that.