The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

announced Thomas. “And that theory is—in the simplest terms—that by hitting that airfield, we may have set her plans back some, which buys us time to think of a solution.”

“We might just have that solution,” Henrik said. “With young Miss Morgan here.”

Morgan started, and then looked around the room at all of us, her green eyes taking us all in, one by one. She swallowed visibly. “You mean a coup, don’t you?”

That… wasn’t the worst idea I’d heard, but I didn’t have enough information. I needed to know her whole story before I could entertain the possibility. For all we knew, she was a criminal to her own people, which would make any claim she had to the throne illegitimate.

Luckily, Henrik had the same idea. “That is a possibility, but before we do anything, we need to hear your story, young lady.”

I followed Henrik’s gaze over to Morgan again. Her eyes slid from his face to Violet’s, and her mouth tightened slightly. She stood up abruptly, and moved over to the large screen mounted on the wall.

“Will this thing be on for a while?” she asked, pulling a chain off her neck. I craned forward, curious as to what she was doing.

“It will. The generators in this building are full for the time being, although I calculate that running every piece of technology in here would eat through the fuel in thirty-six to forty-two hours.” A shuffle of papers drew my gaze over from Morgan to Thomas, and he looked up at me, adjusting his glasses. “I gave everyone reports on it.” He delivered his last line awkwardly, as if suddenly uncertain whether he had revealed too much, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s good to know,” said Ms. Dale cheerfully. “What are you doing, Morgana?”

Morgan’s back was to us, but I saw her spine stiffen. She was silent for a moment before shaking her head and bending over to fiddle with the data chip reader at the base of the screen.

“Much like Amber, I am not the biggest fan of my full name. Morgan is fine.” She reached over and hit something on the side of the screen, and it flicked on.

Immediately, blocks of typed words filled the screen.

Morgana, my beloved daughter.

I was reckless. Foolhardy and blind. If you and your sisters were the only good thing to come out of the poor decisions I made, then I consider myself blessed in spite of the suffering I have caused.

Please don’t blame yourself, my daughter. You are not responsible for the mistakes of your mother, and I hate the burden my mistakes have become to you. I am doing everything I can to fix it. Believe me, you are my heart, my world… my everything. To have come so close to losing you… I can’t even begin to describe the searing pain in my heart… the sickness in my stomach.

I visit you every day, sweetling. You lie in the bed, still as a statue, while machines and doctors fight to keep you alive. I brush your hair and sing to you. Can you hear me? I hope you can… I want you to know you are loved. You were born a fighter, my love. Desmond sings your praises after every one of your training sessions. She says that one day, no one will be able to stand up to you.

That was all I ever wanted for you and your sisters. I wanted to give you strengths and abilities that would keep you safe. It is true what they say. Most men are physically stronger than us. Evolution has made them that way, and I tried to defy evolution, but I see the cost of that every time I see you in that bed.

I will fix it, baby. I will, but please don’t leave me.

With love,

Mother

I looked at Morgan, who had moved over to the side of the screen, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Her back was rigid, her gaze locked on a spot on the wall.

“What happened to you?” Violet asked, the words tumbling from her mouth. I looked over to see the concern on her face, and realized she had come to care about the renegade princess, and I couldn’t blame her—there was definitely something about her that made me want to care too. It was just a gut instinct, really, but I had learned to listen to it long ago.

Morgan licked her lips and took in a long deep breath, then exhaled, counting slowly, and I suddenly felt bad that we all needed to hear her story. I could see how hard this was for her.

“My mother and Mr. Jenks”—she said his name bitterly, like a curse—“didn’t anticipate all of the side effects that would come from the genetic manipulation they did to me and my sisters. My sisters were born with some… minor problems. Elena suffered from chronic migraines and bleeding from the nose, ears, once from the eyes. Tabitha would go into fits and start slamming her head against the wall.

“Like Tim, my skin hurts when I am touched. I think my pain receptors are even more sophisticated. The softest breeze on my skin would feel like fire, but I could grab a fly out of the air with unerring accuracy. I was a prototype, after all. But where Elena and Tabitha seemed to be able to cope with the… side effects… I was more… sensitive, I guess. Weak was the word Elena would use, every time she found me crying. She’d push me, slap me, telling me it would make me stronger, but it never did.” She gritted her teeth, and I realized she was fighting back tears. “I couldn’t even ask my mother for a hug—because it hurt so bad. Can you understand what that’s like? Being a little girl who only needs a hug, but, whenever she’s touched, would only scream and scream and scream until her voice gave out?”

The words marched out of her, forced between angry teeth and stiff