At some point, all of us have to choose to fight for something. All of us reach a point where we can no longer be pushed, where the choice is to either lose what makes us, us, and become slaves, or to discover that there is a piece of us, a part of us, that cannot be bought, that cannot be crushed, that cannot be traded away for any price. Ultimately, we all have something we would give our lives for; ultimately, we all have something we would sell our very souls to protect.
Morgan had never truly felt that before, but she was beginning to experience that now. Even if, in every other way, the poison she had started to take was taking a terrible toll on her, at the same time it made her come to a realization: she had to be more than just Sol's puppet. She had to be more than just Sol's good little sister sometimes, and she had to stand up for herself.
She was learning this for all the wrong reasons, but all the same, she was learning. And while it caused great friction, Morgan had at least begun to stand up for herself... even if for the wrong things. Titan wanted to be proud of her, but his fear for her, and where this path would take her, overwhelmed any pride or joy he might have felt.
Sol, however, was disappointed by her sister's refusal to fall in line. She thought it was an ill omen, of bad things to come. She thought that it meant that Morgan was beginning to descend into the darkness, the place where she would inevitably fall. She thought many things, all of them cruel, many of them unfair.
Yet all the same, Sol did not act: Sol instead blamed Veliuona, even if she knew their true target had to be the cult that had attacked them. And she went so far as to threaten the Blood Seer to stay away from her sister, even though he and Morgan rarely spoke, and she did not even know that the Blood Seer could artificially produce serums very similar to the dragon's blood that Morgan lusted after.
Her Paladin was no help on either front: he was too cowardly to stand up to Sol, and too weak to resist Morgan's pleas, sneaking her vials of the crimson concoction she so desired, acting as a mule, and perhaps enjoying the attention and affection she gave him as a result. He felt there was little he could do... and he was not wiling to resist her, in any event. In a way, he liked her taking charge, he liked feeling free of responsibility, and without a doubt, he loved the affection the mare heaped upon him in exchange for her 'needs.'
And yet, while inwardly they quarreled, outwardly, the group of heroes fought off brigands, defeated monsters, and chased the cult halfway across the nation without fear or hesitation. They were strong, determined, worked as one together: there was no foe that could stand against their might, especially with Morgan made so ruthlessly strong by the poisons she was taking.
But all the same, their inner fractures were what would lead these mighty heroes to failure and ruin.
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