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The Witch in the Tower (Lay the Very Best - Chapter 364)
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 00:48:18 +0000 UTCMorgan rode the night air, her wings slicing through the neon haze that smothered Spikemuth. Below, the city pulsed with its usual reckless
Morgan rode the night air, her wings slicing through the neon haze that smothered Spikemuth. Below, the city pulsed with its usual reckless energy. Music pounding, voices spilling from the shadowed streets, cigarette embers glowing like restless spirits in the dark.
It was a beautiful mess of a place. Brash and noisy but laced amongst all the light were dark strands of shadows for danger to lurk in. Morgan couldn't help but feel a bit of affinity with the goths who no doubt lived in the shade; it was in Murkrow blood to want to press a woman up against a wall in a dark alley, dig your claws in, and kiss her until she forgot everything in the world but you.
Morgan hadn't felt homesick in a long time, but Spikemuth reminded her of Black City if it had been cracked open and sprinkled with lights and glitter. As usual, even the tallest buildings weren't a touch on Unova; Spikemuth was almost quaint compared to what Morgan had seen. Back home, everything was bigger; the cities were sprawled with towering skyscrapers and endless streets while the wilds could stretch on for days.
Even the sky had felt larger; in Galar, you were constantly bumping into other Flying Types. Galar was so compact, its cities nestled close, every inch packed with history and life. Smaller, but in some ways, it felt more alive. Spikemuth hummed with energy, filled with two groups of people who didn't get along, but in a county so tiny they had to share. No pretenses. No false polish. Just a city of people trying to carve out their own spaces and changing as the contrast bled together.
The Murkrow felt that. She'd been changing a lot recently because of the people around her. Telling Brandy she loved her. Finding her voice again and even admitting to some flaws. She'd begun to feel restless, a boredom she hadn't known what to do with. For so long, her instinct had been to run when things stopped being exciting, to chase the next thrill, the next challenge. But this time, she hadn't. This time, she'd let Tansy and Harper talk her into staying, pushing through the discomfort rather than escaping it.
It had been strange at first. Sitting with feelings, Morgan would have rather ignored, allowing herself to be vulnerable in ways that made her feathers bristle. But there was a certain satisfaction in it, too. A new kind of challenge that required patience, honesty, and trust, things she'd never been particularly good at.
Brandy had been part of that change. She wasn't a naturally competitive woman, not like Morgan, but she had a different kind of drive. A relentless focus on making Pokémon happy, understanding them, and giving them what they needed. Most Pokémon were competitive in some way, even if they didn't realize it. And Brandy, for all her soft edges, knew how to meet that need, challenge without pushing, and make someone want to stay instead of run.
She was an extraordinary woman for whom Morgan had found it worth staying. Accepting that had been the biggest change of Morgan's life. She had always been a strong Flying Type at heart, drawn to the thrill of the unknown, the rush of new games and challenges. Stifled by failure or the comfortable. Yet, for the first time, she had chosen to stay comfortable. Not because she had to. Not because there was no other path. But because she wanted to.
That should have been enough to make an Honchkrow of her. Morgan wanted the evolution badly, the strength it'd give, the ability to match up better with Calcine. It was an edge she could use in a game she felt she was losing with the Carkol.
It felt ridiculous that there could be any bigger change left to come. What more was there? She had made the choice. She had found something, someone, worth fighting for. She had opened herself up in ways she never had before, letting Brandy and the others see parts of her she had long kept hidden. She had grown!
Evolution was supposed to come when a Pokémon reached a turning point when something inside them clicked when they had outgrown what they were and become something more.
So why hadn't she?
The thought gnawed at her, an itch she couldn't scratch. It was as if something inside her was stuck, a lesson left unlearned, a piece of herself she hadn't yet acknowledged. But what? What could be greater than this? Than love, than commitment, than finally learning to stand still without feeling like she was losing something?
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe evolution wasn't as simple as filling out a checklist. But Morgan loved to play the game, and she felt she'd mastered all the rules and played accordingly.
She was owed a victory.
Morgan crested high enough to see the whole of Spikemuth spread beneath her, and once again felt a kinship with the city. She should have felt at home in a city stuffed with goths, yet just like herself, something about the city tonight made her feathers bristle. It wasn't anything obvious. No distant sirens screaming a warning, no strange figures moving in ways they shouldn't. It was deeper, woven into the air itself.
Something was off.
And for someone who had always felt a little off herself, she felt sorry for Spikemuth. It deserved better.
Ugh. That's the problem with the sky; there is far too much time to think. Morgan shook her head and tried to refocus, tucking the box of cheesecake closer to her side. An errand was an errand, and she wasn't about to get distracted by trying to unpack her own tangled thoughts.
Elira.
That was the name on the box. The woman who lived high above Spikemuth, where the neon thinned and the night deepened.
She banked left, scaling the sky in a sharp ascent. The city fell away beneath her, its chaotic heartbeat fading into a distant hum. The building ahead loomed taller than the rest, dark stone and slanted windows giving it the look of something out of place, as though it had been pulled from another time and dropped into Spikemuth by mistake. A gothic skyscraper that could have doubled as an evil layer.
A single window on the top floor flickered with uneven light.
Morgan landed lightly on a balcony, her talons barely making a sound against the balcony's marbled tiles as she folded her wings around the box. The glass doors were already cracked open, the thin gauze curtains billowing in the night wind.
Inviting her in.
Suspicious. Even if Elira had been expecting a cheesecake delivery, she wouldn't have had any reason to think it'd come from the sky.
Morgan tensed herself for an ambush and stepped inside.
The room was draped in shadows, its corners lost to the flicker of dim violet-blue candlelight. Heavy curtains hung against the walls, their embroidery curling into symbols Morgan didn't recognize. The scent of something sharp and spiced curled in the air-incense, maybe, or something stranger.
And in the center of it all, lounging in the half-light, was Elira.
She was beautiful in a way that didn't feel human.
The dark fabric of her corset hugged her frame, the high collar of her coat framing pale skin in stark contrast. Her short, uneven hair was the deep purple of dusk, shimmering when she moved. And her eyes, lined with kohl, glowed faintly in the dimness, an unnatural, luminous violet.
Morgan knew that glow. You only got that with an extra thick helping of psychic inheritance.
Elira tilted her head, watching her with a small, unreadable smile. "You're earlier than I expected."
Morgan slid the balcony door closed behind her, her gaze never leaving Elira's. "Wasn't aware there was an expected time."
Elira hummed, fingers trailing lazily over the spine of a worn book beside her. "There's always an expected time. Even when you don't know it."
Morgan smirked. "Let me guess. You knew it, though."
Elira lifted her chin, eyes gleaming. "Of course."
This wasn't a normal way to talk. This was a game, and Morgan didn't know its rules. That made it all the more exciting.
She tilted her head, watching Elira with sharp amusement. "So, you play with those worth your time. Guess that means I made the cut."
Elira smirked, leaning back into the velvet cushions of her chair like a queen on her throne. The shift in her posture only emphasized things: her tight corset pressing against her curves, the deep, deliberate dip of her waist flaring into thick, squeezable hips. The lace at her thighs framed smooth, pale skin like everything about her had been crafted for temptation.
"You brought me dessert," she said, voice rich and knowing. "That earns you at least a few moments of my attention."
Morgan's feathers ruffled, though not from irritation. Elira was built like a damn dream. Soft in all the best places, but carrying herself with a kind of control that made it obvious she knew what she was doing. Women like her always did. Mature. Worldly. The kind who could ruin someone and never even lift their voice while doing it.
The temptation for Morgan to try to break that facade was just irresistible. She had to do it. It was more important than breathing.
"That so?" Morgan murmured, letting her gaze drag over Elira's body, appreciating every inch of it as she walked up and offered up the cheesecake box, folding back the lid. "Feels like you've been paying attention to me for longer than that. Getting the stage set for my arrival."
Elira's fingers trailed over the silver fork beside her, her movements slow and deliberate. "Perhaps. Perhaps I saw you before you ever set foot in this room."
Morgan scoffed, but she was grinning. "Let me guess. You foresaw my arrival? Read it in the stars?"
Elira's lips curled at the edges, teasing. "Not the stars. I have other ways of knowing things."
Morgan leaned closer, the shade of her hat's brim darkening Elira's eyes even further. "Uh-huh. And these 'other ways' wouldn't involve peeking out of a window and watching me fly in, would they? Because I'm a Dark Type, and Psychics don't get to pry into our heads at all."
Elira let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as though considering. The movement made her corset shift slightly, pulling tight around her chest, emphasizing the deep cut of her dress.
Morgan absolutely noticed.
"You're quick," Elira said. "That's good. But you should know not everyone follows the rules. Sometimes, a Psychic can see things about a Dark Type, things she likes." Her gaze dipped briefly to Morgan's lips before returning to her eyes. "For instance, I can already tell you're the kind of Pokémon who never stops thinking. Always solving a puzzle. Always chasing a thread."
Morgan tapped the cheesecake box impatiently. If Elira wouldn't take it, she would end up with it on her lap. Morgan was being very patient here. "You don't need visions to figure that out. You must have heard about me. There's not a lot of Murkrow in Galar."
Elira lifted the cheesecake fork and scooped a bite without taking her eyes off Morgan. Instead of eating it, she held it out, just barely brushing it against Morgan's lips. "Too clever sometimes, less mouth. More action, darling."
Morgan exhaled softly. A test, then. She could play along. She flicked her tongue out, curling it around the fork before biting down. The cheesecake was smooth and sweet, but she barely noticed.
Not when Elira was watching her like that.
Not when she looked like that.
Morgan licked her lips as she pulled back. "It's superb, but I'm more interested in something else."
Elira set the fork down, watching her with idle amusement. "Oh?"
Morgan stepped even closer, her wings flexing slightly at her sides. The air between them tightened.
"What are you?"
Elira's lashes lowered, and she smiled as if they both knew the answer. "I could tell you, but where's the fun in that? Why don't you guess?"
Morgan narrowed her eyes, her grin sharpening as she studied Elira more closely. "Guess, huh? Alright." She took a step back, giving Elira another slow, deliberate once-over, pretending it was just about the puzzle, but really taking her time appreciating the way Elira moved. Her body rested against the cushions with such effortless confidence.
Everything about her was too precise, perfectly poised, like she was making a move even when sitting still.
Morgan tapped a talon against the cheesecake box thoughtfully. "You're psychic. That much is obvious. I can feel you at the edges of my thoughts. Failing to get in." Her gaze flickered to Elira's fingers, how they traced slow, idle patterns over the fabric of her dress. "You're pretending you know things before they happen, so you like to steer things. Or try anyway."
Elira tilted her head, her lips curving in amusement. "Is that your guess, then? That I manipulate fate itself? Some kind of witch?"
Morgan snorted. "No, but you'd love it if I thought so, wouldn't you?" She took another slow step around the table, her wings half-spread, prowling like a Murkrow circling something shiny. "Gardevoir lovers don't toy with people like this, so despite your fantastic ass, you're not bonded with one of them. A Malamar would fit this attitude, but you'd have long tendrils in your hair, not this short dark purple cut."
Elira hummed, watching her with playful curiosity. "A lot of guesses of what I'm not. Are you actually going to say what I am?"
Morgan paused, her claws tapping again. What was the trick in this game? Elira was trying to fool her.
Wait.
That was it.
Elira was trying to fool her. This meant this was a disguise, not just a guessing game of inheritance. This was deliberate deception. This was the essence of a magic trick. It didn't matter what card the player chose because you controlled them all.
Morgan stopped circling, wings twitching. Her grin widened as the realization clicked into place. "You're a pretty human; you could have inherited from so many different Pokémon to make this gorgeous-looking body."
Elira said nothing, just smiled, patient as ever.
Morgan leaned in. "But you never said you were human at all, did you?"
Elira's smirk deepened just slightly.
Bingo.
Morgan's heart thumped harder. She felt electrified. A puzzle where the answer had been staring her in the face the whole time.
She exhaled a short laugh, barely containing her excitement. "Damn. You really had me dancing for it." She tilted her head, considering. "So, what's under the mask? Zoroark? You've got the attitude for it."
Elira chuckled softly. "A fair guess. But no."
Morgan grinned. "Alright, then." She let her claws drift up Elira's wrist, fingers teasing along her arm, half-testing, half-appreciating the feel of her. Her skin was warm, but beneath it, something thrummed. "Psychic. Not a Gardevoir. You're good at illusions, but that's not your main trick."
Elira said nothing, letting her figure it out.
Morgan's mind raced. What Pokémon had control like this? Could pull at thoughts, bend perception, and manipulate people while barely lifting a finger?
Morgan stopped breathing for a second.
Her fingers pressed lightly into Elira's arm.
She felt a little of Brandy under there. A familiar comforting heat. It was a big clue, and Elira seemed to know it because she tried to distract by going for a kiss.
Morgan was all for it and melted into the kiss, letting herself sink into its warmth, her claws curling lightly against Elira's waist. For all the teasing and tricks, Elira kissed with a slow, deliberate certainty like she already knew the outcome and was savoring the steps leading up to it.
It was addictive, and Morgan wasn't about to pull away just yet.
Instead, she shifted, moving with an effortless confidence as she straddled Elira's lap, her wings folding close as she settled against her. Elira didn't stop her. If anything, she adjusted slightly, one hand trailing down Morgan's back, the other resting against her hip, holding her there. The cheesecake was lost somewhere. Hopefully Reena wouldn't be mad about that.
"Comfortable?" Elira murmured in the kiss, voice laced with amusement.
Morgan smirked. "Why don't you tell me, Psychic?"
Elira exhaled a soft laugh, her grip tightening just slightly. "Dark Types can be so annoying. You're lucky you're hot."
Morgan hummed, letting her fingers wander. Elira's waist dipped in that perfect way beneath her corset, curving out into thick, squeezable hips, the kind made for resting a Murkrow's weight against. Morgan fully took advantage of that, sinking in a little more and testing how Elira held her.
Firm. Steady. Warm.
Way too warm.
Morgan paused, her talons tapping lightly against Elira's ribs. Not unpleasantly warm. Not like a normal person sitting by candlelight for too long.
No. This heat wasn't fading.
It was constant, radiating from her body like a steady ember, seeping through her dress and skin into Morgan's own.
Morgan leaned back slightly, studying her face with playful suspicion. "You're running a little hot, aren't you?"
Elira's expression didn't change, but her fingers twitched slightly where they rested against Morgan's back. "Am I?"
Morgan's grin widened. That was a tell.
She traced her claws lazily along Elira's shoulder, then down the curve of her waist. Her movements weren't just teasing anymore. They were testing.
Elira's breath stayed steady, her expression calm, but Morgan felt the little shifts, the barely-there tension. The way her body reacted.
She leaned in, brushing her lips just under Elira's jaw, voice low and smug. "See, I was so focused on your psychic tricks that I didn't stop to think about the other part of you."
Elira still didn't move. Didn't flinch. But Morgan was watching her closely now. She nuzzled in a little closer, letting the heat soak into her feathers and thoughts.
"Fire Types lose all control when they get horny."
Elira exhaled a slow, measured breath. Not the sound of someone trapped in a lie, but someone indulging in the moment. She tilted her head just enough for her lips to skim the edge of Morgan's face, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur.
"Go on," she coaxed. "Prove it."
Morgan's smirk widened. That was permission.
She let her claws trail down Elira's sides, slow and deliberate, enjoying how her curves filled her hands so perfectly. But she wasn't just teasing anymore—she was searching. Testing the illusion, pressing into the places where it might slip.
And that's when she felt it.
Not skin. Not fabric. Something softer.
Her fingers brushed along Elira's waist, expecting smooth skin, but instead, they met fur.
Morgan froze for half a second, then her grin sharpened.
Got you.
She didn't react at first. Didn't call her out. Just let her hands wander lower, trailing over Elira's hip, fingers splaying against the plush warmth of her thighs. She shifted against her lap, getting comfortable, nuzzling in closer. "You know," she murmured against Elira's neck, "for someone who enjoys playing mind games, you've got a pretty solid build."
Elira hummed in amusement. "Is that a compliment?"
Morgan's fingers curled around something at her lower back—thicker, fluffier.
A tail.
Elira stiffened ever so slightly.
Morgan nearly purred. Busted.
She gave the tail an experimental squeeze, feeling its warmth and the subtle flick of movement under her hand.
And then, as if confirming everything, her fingers drifted lower, past her back, down toward her thigh, and there it was.
Heat.
A gentle, pulsing warmth, not skin but something burning beneath the surface.
A Delphox's inner flame.
Morgan grinned, pressing a slow kiss to Elira's jaw before whispering smugly, "Well, well. What big, fluffy secrets you have, witch."
Elira let out a quiet, breathy laugh, tilting her head slightly as if deciding whether to deny it or accept her fate.
In the end, she just sighed, utterly unbothered, and wrapped her arms a little more snugly around Morgan's waist.
"Congratulations," she murmured, her voice like velvet. "You caught the fox in her lie. Now what?"
"I got some ideas," Morgan smirked. "Want to eat cheesecake off my stomach?"
"Sure you're not the psychic?" Elira grinned, "Because that's exactly what I was thinking."
