Morgan knew he should've ferried the cards right back to Mel.

But he didn't. There were maids to pay, kids to care for and, well, it didn't seem like the whole thing was going to take a whole lot of time, anyway.

He certainly didn't need the time to steel himself or to convince himself that it was the best way, sick as it all was.

So FUCKING sick.

He stood at Maalech's door, scowling at it as if it had kicked him in the face, tapping his tattered old coat to make sure the cards were still in place before heaving a sigh and knocking on the door a couple times.

It took a little before the door was finally opened, revealing a Maalech that had most likely not got much sleep in the night before. At least not if one would judge by his appearance. "Come in." The words were brief, but more distracted than brusque.

The room had turned from relatively tidy to more cramped, the new books had been stacked against one wall, to make room for a clutter of notes that he had obviously been sorting. Or going through. In either case there were several piles, and loose parchment scattered everywhere.

"There should be bread somewhere, and some water. The neighbor's son brought some earlier, it should be fresh." He crossed his legs and sat down on the floor once more, his mind still halfway elsewhere.

Morgan had not fully registered to him yet.

The paler man watched Maalech wandering as he closed the door behind him, shrugging and helping himself to a bit of bread before taking a seat on one of the many piles of books. With a sigh, he held out the deck of cards, "Alright, Mal. I'm ready to do this when you are."

The guy was probably so ramped up because he knew he had to do all this sight-unseen. At least that would've made sense to Morgan.

"You have the cards then? The Countess is free from the weave? Please, tell me what happened, it is not as if I would know anything these days. I can only predict in the loosest likelihood." Maalech sighed, forehead deeply wrinkled as he finally seemed to be satisfied with what he had foind (or not found) in his notes.

"How many cards are left?"

"The girl's fine, Mal," said the man, "Calm down, okay?" He held up the cards then before thumbing through them, "And... most of 'em are left, from the look." He handed them to Maalech, "You're the Magus now." He smiled a bit and shrugged, "I don't know what else to tell you, Maalech."

"Superstitious nonsense..." Maalech muttered a bit as he leafed through the cards, frowning slightly as he did so. He was separating them in two piles, one large, and one very small. The small one held the eight and nine of swords, the tower, the devil and death. His frown deepened again as he leafed through the larger pile, then sighed. "No ten of swords. Pity. It must have been torn already."

Only then did he look closer at Morgan, grey eyes all business. "Are you having second thoughts then? Or did you have problems obtaining the cards?"

"I don't much appreciate your tone, Mal." The man scowled some, flexing his fingers slowly, "I needed a little time to prepare is all. The cards have been safe and... Just what the Hell are you doing?" He tilted his head, watching the cards become piles.

"I do not much appreciate what we are to do, period. My tone is the least of our concerns right now" Maalech snapped back, but as if he had been shaken by his own reaction he took a moment to breathe in deeply, letting it out as he sought what little calm that remained.

"I... apologize." The words came haltingly, and after some thought, but they came. "I am not used to make allowances for other people in tasks like this. Many burdens are easier to carry unshared."

He looked down at the cards once more, then shook his head. "I was pondering whether it might be better for her to leave some cards behind. Perhaps some pain is better off not being remembered." It was a very unlikely sentiment for him.

Morgan softened some at the apology before nodding and shrugging, "Don't sweat it, Mal. It's... It's not important." He smiled a little and sighed, stepping toward the man, watching the piles for a moment.

"That's... a nice thought. But if it was all happy memories she needed to be whole, I could just go and I wouldn't need to think about binding her in." He looked to the man then, "You know you have to go all in for this. You're going to hurt her. She'll hate you for a while. Then she'll remember. And then she'll know the why of it all."

He frowned some, "I think you owe her that even more."

"I am aware of that." It was likely something he had been wrestling with since their decision to go through with this. "It was a thought. The patterns do not add up. You are correct." But the sigh clearly old that he wished things were otherwise.

"I was seeking a way to minimize the time she would have to spend neutered. Choice is one thing, but this..." This was a crime. Nothing more. A crime to keep themselves, and certain other people alive. The cause was understandable, and yet...

This was wrong. Another wrong thing in a line of wrong thing that needed to be done.

Minimize the damage wrought.

"I do owe her."