The Trial of Morrigan Crow; Morrigan Crow's Revenge

Chapter 2 - Bid Day *EDITED*

*Image above is what she look like on the Bid Day. If you don't like it, just ignore and imagine what she looks like.*

"It couldn't hurt your approval rating to remind them that you're about to become a... a g-grieving father. From a journalistic point of view, it might give the event a unique, er, point of interest."

"How unique?"

"Front-page unique."

Corvus was silent. Morrigan knew it was settled.

"Do not speak to anyone, Morrigan," her father muttered for the hundredth time that morning, hurrying up the stone steps of Town Hall in great strides  "You will be sitting on the stage with me, where everyone can see you. Understand? Don't you dare make anything... happen. No broken hips or—or swarms of wasps, or falling ladders, or..."

"Ok, ok, I get it! No accidents," Morrigan sighed desperately.

Corvus groaned in annoyance, "I hope so... Remember girl, don't ruin it! Everyone in Town Hall will be watching to see what you do and how it will reflect on me. Don't try to ruin my career?"

The annoying old man continue to blabber as the girl ignored him.

Looking around in the Town Hall, Morrigan faintly remembers coming to here when the old man's popularity was at its lowest ebb and he needed a public show of support from his family. Flanked by stone columns and sitting in the shadow of an enormous iron clock tower, the gloomy-looking Town Hall was Jackalfax's most important building.

The Skyfaced Clock was no ordinary clock. There were no hands, and no lines to mark the hours. Only a round glass face, with an empty sky inside that changed with the passing of the Age—from the palest-pink dawn light of Morningtide, through the golden bright Basking, to the sunset-orange glow of Dwendelsun, and into the dusky, darkening blue of the Gloaming.

Today—like every day this year—they were in the Gloaming. Morrigan knew that meant it wasn't long until the Skyfaced Clock would fade into the fifth and final color of its cycle: the inky, star-strewn blackness of Eventide. The last day of the Age.

There was an air of excitement in the normally somber, echoing hall. Several hundred children from all over Jackalfax had arrived wearing their Sunday best, the boys with their hair slicked down and the girls with pigtails and ribbons and hats. They sat straight-backed in rows of chairs under the familiar stern gaze of President Wintersea, whose portrait hung in every home, shop, and government building in the Republic—always watching, always looming large.

The riotous sound turned to a buzzing murmur as Morrigan and Corvus took their seats on the stage behind the podium. Everywhere Morrigan looked, eyes narrowed in her direction.

Morrigan frowned as Corvus placed a hand on her shoulder in an awkward, unnatural gesture of paternal affection while some local reporters snapped photographs of them. She didn't even try to hide her annoyance while sending glares towards the man.

After a triumphant chorus of the Wintersea Republic National Anthem (Onward! Upward! Forward! Huzzah!), Corvus opened the ceremony with a very dull speech, followed by various headmasters and local businesspeople who all had to chime in. Then, finally, the Lord Mayor of Jackalfax brought out a polished wooden box and began to read the bids. Morrigan doesn't know how to feel. Excited? Nervous?

"'Madam Honora Salvi of the Silklands Ballet Company,'" he read from the front of the first envelope he pulled out, "'wishes to present her bid for Molly Jenkins.'"

There was a squeal of delight from the third row, and Molly Jenkins leapt from her seat, rushing to the stage to curtsy and collect the envelope that contained her bid letter. "Well done, Miss Jenkins. See one of the aides at the back of the hall after the ceremony, dear, and they'll direct you to your interview room."