#(It isn't brought up but Morgan is Greek-Portuguese)

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

📼 !

Send 📼 to see an early childhood memory of my muse’s

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A dusty television forgotten in a half-demolished van sputters to life, buzzing with static. Through the haze a picture begins to coalesce, faded and hazy from time. T̴͊ͅḫ̶̀ȃ̵̯ţ̵̈́'̵̀ͅs̸͎̈́ ̶̭̎a̵͇͝l̴̹͑l̵͓̉ ̵̐ͅt̴͍̐h̶̳͘a̴̞̾t̷̨̿ ̸̻̅i̸̧̒t̴͈̉ ̶̠̌ì̶͙s̶͉̉,̷̼̐ ̸̺́r̸̨̒î̴͇g̵̳͐ḣ̶̠t̵̲̊?̸̟̎

Morgan, about five or six, scampers up to a male figure leaning over his desk, reviewing c̵̹̉͗̔̀́̉̀̒̑̊̔à̶̡͙͇̰̙̠͆̾̐̅ͅm̵̨̹͓̆̈́͐̓̃̂̕p̵̙̬̍͛͐̊̂̒̒̋͆̒͋̑̏̂͝ą̴̛̤͎̺͕͎͍͎̈́́̀̽͐̔̈̊͠͝i̷̧͎͚̒̈̚g̶͈̖͎̲̝͎̺̺͖̫̾̾̓̄̊̔̂̒͒͘͜n̴̗̹͓̞̙̘̮̰̪̪̝͑͗̈́́̈̅̄͛̂̕͠ ̸̨̨̧̠͕̰̘̹̼̳͉́̏̊̅̂̉̑́͒̕̚͜͝n̷̝̖͕̯̯͈͉͙̩̺͊͒͋̉͋͆̃̏͘̚̕͝ͅō̵̼͚̫̬̟̖̿͒̋̚t̶̳͚̆e̷̘̳̣̍̈́̆̆͘ͅͅs̸̢̢̘̦̤̩̼̰̜̯̼̣̦̱̝͐́̊̈́̑̃̔ something about architecture a child so young could never understand. He looks down at his child and -s̴͖̀ñ̵̼e̸̗̋e̶̱̅r̶̘͗s̶̭̍ ̷̥͠i̵͖̚n̵͈̒ ̴̠̅d̵̰̔ì̵̙s̸̰̓g̶͈͑u̴̬͠s̷̺̐t̶̻͆.̴̙̋

"̶̬̎I̵͝ͅ ̷̖͋ţ̵̆ó̵̢l̸̖̄d̶̨̀ ̶̙̾y̷̭̚o̴͙̚ȕ̵̬ ̵͈̆t̴̞̽ḥ̴̏a̷̗͗t̸̻̋ ̵̨̕y̶̠̒ò̴̠u̶͇̇ ̸̝̅a̸̹̍r̸͓̕e̴̲͑ ̵̙̂n̴̊͜e̵͕̒v̵͈͊e̶̩̔r̵̰͆ ̸̳̀a̴̠͝l̸̙̍lo̴̙͂w̶̹̎ḙ̵̾ḑ̵̌ ̴̫̉i̴̛̭n̵͓̊ ̴̣͆h̴͍͛e̸͓̅r̸̲̐e̴̲͘.̶͈͘"̴̤̀"̷̒ -smiles gently, "You know you're not allowed in here when I'm working."

s̵͎̄h̸̦͝e̸̦̚ ̶̬͌l̴̿ͅo̴̺̾o̸͖͒ķ̵̎s̸͙͌ ̵̫̀d̸͖̐ŏ̶̺ẁ̴̲ň̵̡ ̵̹̌a̴͕̚t̶̞͘ ̵̘͝h̷̔ͅe̵͓̽r̶͖͛ ̷̘̅ḟ̵̖e̴̼͌e̷͙͐t̸͈͛,̴͕̒ ̸͉͛ḁ̵̓s̴̊ͅh̵̠͋a̸̬͌m̵̺̔e̷̲̒d̶̪͌. Morgan shuffled their feet, little body not quite used to standing still yet. They pull out a picture book they had tucked under their arm and open it to a page diligently marked with a smiley face bookmark.

"What does this word mean?" They point to a word in their book- a children's story meant to teach Greek children how to read, pudgy finger pressing against the word "αστέρι". "Astéri- Star." "Like what you call me?"

"Not quite," he chuckled good naturedly. "I'll go over the rest of that book later, alright? Papa's working." -h̸̙̋ī̷̱s̸̭͘ ̸̭͊h̷̖̃a̸̡͆ṇ̵̂d̸̤͑ ̴͓͑t̵̉ͅr̵̛͖ë̴̢m̴̠͗b̷̜̀l̷͜͠e̵̹͊d̵̮͌ ̶̺͛a̸͓̓s̷̻͝ ̵̯͆i̵̳͗t̷̥͒ ̶̨̿c̸͇͠u̴͎͑ṟ̷̛ĺ̵̯e̵̮͂d̶͚̊ ̸͓̾ỉ̴̬n̴̟̿ṭ̵̾o̸͓̓ ̷̲́a̴̼͐ ̴̙̂f̷̙͝i̷̖͐s̶̺̓t̶͔̚,̸̖̍ ̷̯̎t̶̩̄h̷̥̓e̸̲̍ ̴̘̚m̵͓̓a̵̻̕n̵͎̉ ̴̬͗ṣ̷̈e̶̼͘e̵̕͜ṯ̶̚h̴̩̑i̴̹̋n̴̜̓g̴͔͑.̶̣̈́ ̶̤̌"̶̯͂Y̶͖̒o̴̲͛ǘ̵̬ ̴̣̏ć̵̱a̶̧̿m̵͍̒ě̵̻ ̶͙̒i̶͕̅ñ̵͈ ̵̱̏h̸͖̒e̴͕͝r̸̖̐e̴͔̎ ̴͉̀ţ̵̓o̴̼͑ ̷͔̊ḅ̷̉ö̵͖́t̵̑ͅh̴̙͂e̸̯̒ṛ̴̍ ̷̜��m̴̟̎ȅ̶͓ ̵͇̕o̷̹͠v̷̦͗ȅ̷̢r̵̮̾ ̸̲̉t̶͕̕h̴͈̏a̴̩̓t̶̢̃?̴̪̀"̴͒͜ ̵̮͊Ḫ̵͊e̴̳͒ ̶̳̈́r̶̓ͅḁ̴̾ȋ̵̡ś̸̪ẻ̸͔ḋ̵͜ ̷̭̌t̵̢̀h̸̥̒ą̴̊t̸̘͂ ̷̠͌h̶͇̓a̸̠͛n̷̺̎ḓ̵̾ ̴͍̀t̶̤͝ő̵̭ ̶̟̑s̶̥͘h̴̝͠o̸̝̒o̷̭̿ ̷̲̈́ẖ̶̄ě̷̜r̶͕͝ ̶̨͊a̶͓͊w̴̨̌a̷̧̔ỷ̵͙.̴̰̐ ̵̮͛"̷̍ͅO̷͇͑ú̷͜t̷͇̾ ̸̯͑o̴͉̕f̷̘͌ ̸̼̔m̷̦̂y̸͇͝ ̵̮́s̸̪̋ȉ̸͓g̴̛̪h̵̞͠t̷̥̚.̸̦̂ ̷̳̀N̴͋ͅỏ̵͕w̷̬͝.̴̬̿"̸̬̇ - He reached down to pat the head of dark curls.

S̵̤͂h̵͎͋ĕ̴̡ ̵̲̈́h̶͚͆u̴̳͑ǹ̷̞c̷̝̚h̸̢̍ë̸̺́d̶͕̒ ̶̻̇h̸̢͊ȇ̷̙r̴̜̀ ̵͉̍s̷̳͋h̵̳̅o̴̭͐u̶̥͒l̴̗͒ḏ̴̀ě̸̮r̴̡̀s̴̳̄ ̶̟̽á̶̞n̸̫̽d̶̥́ ̸͚̂m̴̺͝u̷͕͌t̴͇̔t̶̬̋ĕ̷͜r̷͖̒è̸̫ḍ̵̑ ̵͓̈á̷̢n̶̦̈́ ̸̰̿á̶̗p̷̤̓o̸̢̍l̷͇͑o̴̹̎g̶̜͋ỵ̴̾,̴͈̈ ̶̠̓b̵̲̍į̴̒t̸͎̋ī̶̳n̷̠̆g̸̝̚ ̷͇͒h̶̭̀ȅ̶͜r̶̻̓ ̸̝́l̵̖̄i̶̼̕p̵͎̈́ ̶̗̃h̷̨̓â̸̳r̷͗͜ḑ̴͛ ̸̯͘ẽ̴͚n̸̾͜ò̶̟u̶͈͌ǵ̶̪h̸̡̾ ̴̯̇t̶̲͂ơ̴̱ ̴͉̽ḏ̵͆r̸̮̅ă̷̖w̵̅ͅ ̴̢̃b̴͉́l̴̟̀o̶̻̊ó̴̰d̷̹̈́.̶̮͛ ̴̜͗Ā̴̲n̸͈̎ÿ̴̗́t̸̝̏h̴͔̑i̴͎͘n̶̹̂g̵̠̕ ̸̱̀n̵̖̚o̵͉͐t̸̰͠ ̴̠͝t̴̞̎o ̷̨̆ć̶̥r̵͖̅y̸͚̋.̵͙̈́

They smiled brightly and replied with a cheery "okay!" before skipping out of the room, book clutched to their chest.

The image fizzles out with an electric buzz, a singular white lie cutting across the black screen before it slowly fades, left to decay like everything else no longer plot relevant.