You sneeze.
Looking over at the bleary ray of sunlight resting on top of your hand that rested on the table, you silently thank the living ball of fur that is Morrigan's cat sticking directly to your face and blocking the brightness of the morning as best as his tiny body can.
"Icarus!" You jerk at the stern voice above you. As you straighten up in surprise, something cracks, and you flush in embarrassment, rubbing what little of your back you could reach, doubtlessly sore from hunching over in your body's automatic search for comfort last night.
Your sudden movement earns you a hiss from the cat who leans back.
You only ever find the strength to move your head to look him over when he gives a surprised meow at something unseen. Before long, he is lifted away from you by a pair of ashen hands. The cat hisses, his paws trying to seize anything (your hair is not safe) to stop the lift to no effect.
"Good morning, sweetheart." Morrigan greets you, looking down on you with an endeared expression on her face, far too chipper this early in the morning. She does not only act like it, but looks like it too— dressed in pastel green overalls and hair in clean Dutch braids, pleasing in the way she paints herself in a meticulous way.
You give her a friendly nod, standing up to stretch. Morrigan does not hide her stare.
You, however, choose to simply look at the view that the glass panes provide, thanking the heavens that the rain had finally subsided. It wouldn't be hard to find my way back now, would it?
"Good morning, Morrigan. Um, thanks again for letting me crash here for the night. I really appreciate—" When your eyes finally break from her face, it becomes glued to the entirety of the bakery.
What the...?
The walls of the establishment grabs your attention first. You were too tired to fully comprehend the interior of Moonache last night, but there was no chance you had forgotten how plain the auburn walls had looked, now painted over by a vast mural of indecipherable landscapes in the style of ancient roman art that seize as much visual attention as the paintings scattered over it.
You wordlessly turn your head around at the objects held by the room.
The clearest are the arrays of a variety of baked goods at the edges of each display stand, the uncanny blur from last night having seemingly disappeared completely. A sight that could be excused due to the past state of your eyes, you suppose.
But then, there is a wall-mount display case of an instrument you know how to use, several figurines of characters from movies and TV shows you're all familiar with— on top of a small bookshelf at the front of the doors filled with several titles you just know you'd know.
At one corner of the room, you could even see a glimpse of a poster of your favorite band.
Is... Is my taste just that mainstream? N-no! This is just strange no matter what way you look at it!
"Do you find it pleasing?" Morrigan interrupts your staring with a light stroke of your hair. She giggles at the shocked expression on your face.
"Where did... These come from exactly?" You ask, astonished and trying to fit the mismatched pieces of a mental puzzle you had no idea even existed in the first place.
The baker tilts her head. "The mural only appears when sunlight hits the walls due to the materials used to paint it. As for everything else, I had all the time in the world yesterday night to liven the place a little bit. These are merely interior pieces lying around in the other room."
The other room?
Sure enough, instead of nothing in the direction of where Morrigan points to, a plain wooden door at the left corner of the bakery is attached firmly to the walls surrounding it. It stands motionless, as if it had always been there.
You don't think you can buy it, but if there's ever a chance that Morrigan is lying, well, any other explanation is in the realm of impossibility.
You are silent for a while and Morrigan notices, holding your hand in hers.
"Y/N? You look dazed. Perhaps you woke up wrong? I've read that dreams can sometimes shift your perspective on reality temporarily, depending on its intensity."
Yeah, I'm no idiot, I think.
Still...
"How about you? You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?" She does not look worn out at all, but resting would've been far too impossible. Seriously, how did she even move things without waking me up?
"I work better when the moon is out. Additionally, Icarus kept me company." At the mention of his name, the drowsy cat gives a mellow meow beside your feet but doesn't move from his place.
Morrigan tilts her head at your delighted laugh. "Why is all your attention on him when I was the one who moved all night?" She sulks, playfully glaring at her already dozing pet. The breathing black cloud could not care less.
As you attempt to come up with more questions to ask or think of how to make the state of the bakery make the most sense, your phone rings.
Suddenly remembering the reason you had stayed here in the first place, you fish out your phone from your pocket in a rush, looking over the screen to see that it is your aunt calling you.
Giving Morrigan—who is looking at the object with an almost bewildered expression on her face—an apologetic smile, you walk towards the door and answer the call. Morrigan keeps up with your pace as she anxiously looks on towards the entrance.
"Hello? Auntie?" You think you hear your guardian say something in a worried tone, but a strange static noise leaves you unable to decipher any word of hers.
It's only after a few seconds did her voice find you more clearly this time. "Where— BZZT!— Where are you, Y/N?"
"I stayed at this bakery somewhere in the city, auntie. I'm safe, don't worry!"
"Somewhere?! Do you even ... where you—are, Y/N?"
"Yes, auntie." Your eyes shift to Morrigan who has stopped in front of you, watching your exchange with a blank expression on her face. When she notices you looking, her lips quirk up.
"What? I can't ... BZZT! ... stand, child."
The static comes in waves, cutting off the rest of what she says. "I said yes, auntie." You repeat, almost uselessly.
When her voice leaves you once more, you continue. "I'll be going home now, okay? I promise I'll text you when I get there."
You wince when the call drops.
"Morrigan." The baker lightens up at your voice, tilting her head. "Y/N?"
"I'm absolutely sorry about this." You search your pocket for cash and settle on a 100 dollar bill. Lending it out, you are momentarily frozen at the way she seems to study it carefully, almost puzzled at the piece of paper she grabs from your grip.
Still, you move on after deeming the gesture cute. Looking at your earlier spot on the table by the corner, you check first to see if you've forgotten something and nod satisfactorily after. "I really need to go."
"What?" You don't quite hear what Morrigan mutters, jogging up to the front doors. Only when you had taken your first steps outside—with an odd reluctance within your chest slowing you down, might you add—did a hand grasp your wrist with enough force to nearly pull you back.
You turn to look at the woman who had stopped you, eyes widening at the hurt on her face. Her arms are the farthest they are from the rest of her body, still confined within the bakery. She doesn't step closer nor pull you in, but you observe her considering.
"You... You are not staying, Y/N?" She whispers, confused.
"I-I don't want to bother you any longer. My aunt must be worried sick too." You don't like the guilt creeping up on you at what you had told her, though convincing yourself that what you're doing isn't even unusual does nothing to ease it.
Her eyes leave your face and travel to both of your linked hands. "But you are not a bother." She says softly.
You put your other hand on top of hers. "This wouldn't be the last time we see each other." You say slowly. Odd as it is to point out now, this is the first time you witness her composure being off.
You wonder then, how lonely it is, here?
She holds your stare contemplatively, and your breath is cut off temporarily at the intensity of her eyes, roaming your entirety before stopping at your throat. You swallow air upon noticing. Her hand's grip on you tightens, almost to the point that you want to wince. Just before it happens, however, she lets go.
"I know you'll come back." You didn't know certainty could be as attractive as it is alarming, coming from her.
Icarus, to your surprise, jumps from behind Morrigan, sauntering up to you.
"Take good care of her, Icarus." Morrigan says, looking past you towards the road ahead. "If not for certain limitations, I'd accompany her back myself."