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"COME ON, GET UP," a woman's voice burst into her bedroom along with her presence. Molly turned around in her bed, eyes lazily following to see an elderly woman with red hair, dressed in a maid's uniform.
Sighing, she rolled back around, burying her head into the sheets and blankets, still not prepared to face the world.
"It's been two days, you need to get out of bed," she continued, walking towards the windows and flinging the curtains open. "For someone so holy, you certainly smell rather hellish."
"I don't care," she grumbled, perfectly content to lay there for the rest of her life.
She had gotten into bed after returning home from the altercation with Michael, and refused to get up ever since. The shame of her failure weighed heavily on her, surely half of Heaven would be watching and laughing at her expense. Molly had the perfect opportunity to end Satan's wrath upon Earth, and she had backed away.
"Well I do, these sheets must be stripped and cleaned and I can't do that with you laying in them," she pressed, standing next to the bed with her hands on her hips.
Molly turned around again, moving to sit up. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her movements slow and lethargic. She stood face to face with the maid, eyes scraping over her appearance.
With their prolonged eye contact, a newfound power Molly wasn't aware she possessed seemed to manifest, and she was suddenly able to see the woman's life story.
"Moira," she whispered, her eyes filling with her tears as she felt the woman's pain. The redhead froze instantly, watching as Molly's psychic abilities took place. Tenderly, she reached out and cupped her wrinkled cheek. "You want so desperately to leave this place, but you are trapped."
"Yes," was all she could reply, emotions building within her at the girl's words. She was truly the only one to truly acknowledge her suffering.
Moira's existence had been painful enough, the implications of an affair she didn't even truly want was her downfall. Living as a ghost in the same house for decades was harsh enough, but living with Constance Langdon was the pit of Hell.
"Say the word, and I can help you," Molly offered, placing both hands on her shoulders and looking her intently in the eye. Moira was taken aback, overwhelmed suddenly as a sob ripped through her throat, her head nodding quickly. For an end to come to her suffering would be the kindest form of mercy she could ever receive, as all she had wanted since the end of her days was to be with her mother.
"Please," Moira begged, a hand coming up to cover her quivering lips. Molly smiled assuredly, leaning in and pressing a prolonged, but gentle, kiss to her forehead. Just like that, the woman beneath her touch was gone, moving on to her final resting place - with her mother.
