Chapter Two - House Rules

The hut looked like a completely different place.

With most of the furniture pushed against the walls or moved entirely, the main room had transformed from a cozy, cramped space into something resembling a barn with magic ambitions. Morrigan’s ingredients and knick-knacks that had survived Cassiel’s arrival were stowed away as neatly as possible, which made the space seem a lot less lived in. Morrigan’s bed now sat in the corner instead of below the window, her small table and chairs stacked nearby.

Cassiel sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of the newly cleared space, his wings spread and stacked behind him in what appeared to be the first comfortable position he’d managed since his arrival. Feathers were scattered around him like evidence of his struggle, and he kept absently plucking bent ones from his lowest pair of wings that were laid over his crossed legs with winces.

Morrigan perched on the edge of her bed, feet dangling, looking down at him with an expression caught between amusement and exhaustion. Her ritual makeup had been roughly scrubbed away, but a shade over her eyes and forehead remained alongside traces of silver dots, and her elaborate braids had been undone to let her hair fall down her back and onto the blanket.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence that had fallen after their furniture-moving endeavor as she played with one of her countless rings. “I suppose we should establish some ground rules.“

Cassiel looked up from a particularly mangled feather. “Rules?”

“Living arrangements. Boundaries. You know- the most basic needs to coexist without driving each other completely mad and how you don’t get killed by Soot.” She gestured around the transformed space. “This is already the most I’ve changed my life for anyone in... well, practically ever. I’d prefer not to have to relocate entirely. At that point, I’m kicking you out.”

“That’s... surprisingly reasonable for a witch,” Cassiel said suspiciously, “Though I should mention, I’ve never actually... cohabitated. With anyone. Angels don’t typically share living spaces.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you all live together in heaven?”

“Not exactly. Heaven is vast. We each have our duties, our assigned realms of influence, and spaces to rest that rarely anyone used. We sometimes gather for important announcements or celestial events, but personal quarters...” He trailed off, looking uncertain. “I suppose I’ve never thought about it much. Privacy wasn’t really a concept I needed to understand.”

Morrigan stared at him. “You’re gonna have to learn...” She sighed. “So you’re telling me that not only are you a fallen angel that ruined weeks- if not months- of preparation by crashing into me, but you’re also completely clueless about basic social conventions?”

“I wouldn’t say completely clueless-“

“You demolished half my belongings trying to walk through a doorway and the only social skill you’ve shown is apologising.”

Cassiel’s shoulders sagged, his wings drooping in time. “Point taken.”

Soot, who had been watching this exchange from his favourite spot by the fireplace, let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement.

“Right,” Morrigan said, leaning back and settling more comfortably on her bed. “Rule one: Ask before touching anything. And I mean anything. My herbs, my books, my magical reagents- all of it. Some of that stuff is dangerous, and some of it is irreplaceable. Until you can identify all the herbs here, consider all of them poisonous.”

“Understood.” Cassiel nodded, committing the rule to his memory.

“Rule two: Clean up after yourself. I know you’re not used to making messes, but you’re making them now. If you shed feathers- or pluck them like you’re doing right now- sweep them up. If you knock something over, pick it up. I’m not your servant and you’re not mine.”

Cassiel nodded, then paused. His lower wings lifted off of his lap and spread out behind him, sweeping a wave of feathers towards Soot. “How does one... sweep? With my wings? That seems hardly practical. You don’t have wings.”

Morrigan blinked. “You don’t know what a broom is or how to use it?”

“Cleaning was never part of my celestial duties.”

She rubbed her temples. A headache was coming, and she knew it, but she had already used up the last of her ginger tea. How was it that the angel that had dropped into her home required so much maintenance?

“Okay, Rule three: I’ll teach you basic household tasks, but you have to actually learn them. I’m not doing everything for you just because you’re cosmically disadvantaged. We’re going to split up the chores after I can trust you to not burn my hut down. In return, I reserve the right to ask you questions about celestial magic. For academic purposes.”

“I suppose that would be acceptable.”

Morrigan nodded, unable to keep a smirk from her face as Cassiel agreed to such a seemingly innocuous rule. She was going to pester him for as long as he’d allow- maybe a little bit more.

Cassiel turned his head, looking at Morrigan suspiciously from the corner of his eye. “What’s with that grin?”

“Nothing. Rule four: Respect Soot’s space. He was here first, and he’s going to be here after you. He’s protective of both his territory and me. Don’t try to pet him without his permission, and definitely don’t try to move him if he’s somewhere you need to be. Trust me on this one. Just wait for him to leave or gently- very gently- nudge him.”

“Noted,” Cassiel said.

“Good. Now, what about you? Any rules for me?”

Cassiel considered this, his head tilted in a way that made him look oddly bird-like. “I... don’t know. I’ve never been in a position to set rules for others.”

“Nothing? No angel etiquette I should know about? No celestial taboos?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I would prefer if you didn’t attempt to use me as a component in your rituals. I’m not entirely certain what would happen, but I suspect it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us.”

Morrigan had been about to dismiss the suggestion as ridiculous, then stopped. She had already mentally decided to pester him and the reputation of witches really wasn’t stellar. The thought had actually crossed her mind- having a genuine fallen angel as a magical catalyst could be incredibly powerful. The fact that he’d anticipated this possibility suggested he wasn’t as naive about mortal motivations as he appeared though.

“Fair enough,” she agreed, unable to keep a hint of disappointment out of her voice. “Anything else?”

Cassiel was quiet for a moment, picking at another bent feather. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “I don’t... I’m not certain what my sleeping arrangements should be. I don’t require rest the way mortals do, but I find myself... tired. More tired than I’ve ever been. But I don’t know if I can actually lie down with these.” He gestured helplessly at his wings.

Morrigan looked at the space they’d created, then at Cassiel’s wingspan, doing quick mental calculations. “We’ll figure something out,” she said. “For tonight, anyway. But first, when’s the last time you ate?”

“Ate?”

“Food. Sustenance. Please tell me you at least know what food is.”

“I know what it is,” Cassiel said, sounding slightly offended. “I simply never required it before.”

“But you require it now?”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “I believe so. There’s a... hollow feeling. Here.” He pressed a hand to his stomach. “I assume that’s hunger?”

Morrigan couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, that’s hunger. Come on then.” She slid off the bed. “Let’s see if you can manage to eat dinner without destroying my kitchen... Actually, I still have half a rabbit.”

Cassiel shuffled after her, staying low to avoid knocking anything else over. By the time he’d positioned himself near the small table, Morrigan had already pulled out ingredients with the efficiency of someone who’s been cooking for herself for years in the same cramped space.

“Bread and cheese, vegetables and some of the rabbit Soot caught yesterday,” she said, setting items on the table and starting to prepare the vegetables without explaining it. She could explain to him how to cook some other time. “I’m gonna make soup and cheesy bread. Nothing fancy, but it’ll fill the hollow feeling and it’s nutritious.”

Cassiel watched her work with intense focus, as if memorizing every movement. “How do you know which foods to combine?”

“Experience. Trial and error. You learn what tastes good together.” She paused, knife halfway through slicing the bread. “You’ve never tasted anything, have you?”

“No.”

The simple word carried more weight than it should have. Morrigan found herself wondering what else he’d never experienced- not just food, but all the small sensations that made up mortal existence.

“Right, well, we’ll start simple.” She placed a slice of bread in front of him, then added a small piece of cheese. “Just... eat it. Chew, swallow. Your body should know what to do.”

Cassiel picked up the bread like it might bite him back. He examined it from several angles before taking a cautious bite. His expression immediately shifted- surprise, then something that might have been pleasure.

“It’s...” he paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Warm. And there are so many... layers? To the sensation?”

“That’s taste,” Morrigan said, trying not to sound amused. “And texture. Welcome to having a mortal body. That in particular is bread I made with flour from my garden and my starter.”

“Starter?” Cassiel asked, eyeing another slice of bread but not daring to take it.

Morrigan nodded, grabbing a knife and cutting the vegetables she had set aside into rough chunks to toss into her pot. She put the onions away, knowing they were poisonous to Soot. He’d definitely sneak a bite or five. “It’s like... a pet. It’s this jar of flour and water that I keep replenishing so I can use it as a leavening agent. It eats sugar and makes the bread fluffy and tasty. Taste this.”

Cassiel grabbed the raw chunk of potato Morrigan had handed him.

Cassiel bit into the raw potato and immediately recoiled, his face contorting in disgust. “That’s... terrible.”

Morrigan burst into laughter, the first genuine laugh of amusement she’d had since his arrival. “Yes, that’s the point. Raw potato tastes awful. Wait until it’s cooked.” She gestured to the pot now simmering over the fire. “Food changes completely when you apply heat, seasoning, time. It’s a kind of transformation magic, actually.”

“Transformation magic,” Cassiel repeated, looking at the offensive potato chunk with new interest. “You mean cooking is... magical?”

“Everything is magical if you look at it the right way,” Morrigan said, stirring the soup. “But cooking especially. You take separate ingredients, apply heat and intention, and create something entirely new. Something better than the sum of its parts. Potatoes, for example, are incredibly versatile. Cooked slowly in the oven, they caramelise and turn into these fluffy, sweet clouds that you can fill with everything you’d like. Or one of my sisters always makes these little potato dumplings with sauces. They’re chewy and are just-“

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She stopped herself mid rant, the memory of her and her sisters around a campfire halted her like a dagger to the ribs. The memory of them sitting around the campfire after they had been paid to make it rain, laughing as they shared the stories of their weekends. Soot was still so small back then. Soot padded over and nuzzled into her side, trying to comfort her.

Cassiel noticed the sudden shift in her voice, the way her shoulders tensed. “You have sisters?”

“Had,” Morrigan corrected quietly, her stirring becoming more aggressive. “Had sisters.”

Cassiel nodded slowly, filing this information away with the same intensity he’d shown while memorizing her movements. Morrigan noticed he did that- catalogued everything like he was building an encyclopedia of mortal experience from scratch.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, settling back against the counter while the soup cooked.

“Of course.”

“What was it like? Before you fell? Heaven, I mean.”

Cassiel was quiet for so long that Morrigan wondered if she’d overstepped some celestial boundary. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant.

“Purposeful,” he said. “Everything had its place, its function. I was the Guardian of Sacred Transitions- births, deaths, the moments when souls moved between states of being. I would appear at deathbeds to ease the crossing, or hover near newborns to ensure safe arrival. Clean. Efficient. Necessary.”

“That sounds...” Morrigan searched for the right word. “Lonely.”

Cassiel stayed silent, trying to think of her words.

He had never thought of his duty as lonely. He had time to himself, sure, but he also spent time with different people, even if they wouldn’t or couldn’t always speak with him. It was just how it is. His life.

“Maybe... a little bit...” He looked around her cluttered space. It looked like something truly loved and cherished, an area that was truly lived in even after they had rearranged the furniture. “Here, everything is... messy. Complicated. You have seventeen different jars of herbs that look almost the same, books stacked in what appears like random order. But it’s...” He struggled with the concept, his wings flapping once behind him. Thankfully, they didn’t catch on anything. “Alive. In Heaven, everything was perfect, but nothing was like this.”

Soot chose that moment to lean up onto the table and steal the rabbit Morrigan had been too slow to break down before padding off again.

“See what I mean?” Cassiel asked wryly, motioning at Soot.

Morrigan smiled, throwing all the vegetables into her pot to give herself a second to think about what to reply. “Thank you.”

She grabbed the bucket from beside the hearth and headed for the door before he could answer. “I need to get water for cleaning up. Try not to burn anything down while I’m gone.”

“I don’t think I’m capable of creating fire,” Cassiel said, looking genuinely concerned. “Should I be worried about spontaneous combustion?”

Morrigan paused in the doorway, bucket in hand. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

“No, Cassiel. You’re not going to spontaneously combust. Just... watch the soup. Stir it if it starts to stick. Don’t let Soot steal any more ingredients.” She glanced at the dire wolf, who was now sprawled by the fire, looking entirely too innocent while rabbit bones protruded from between his teeth as he slowly chewed. He was savouring his catch.

The walk to the well gave Morrigan her first moment of quiet since the angel had crashed into her life. The night air was cool against her skin, and she could still see traces of her ruined ritual circle in the moonlight- scattered candle wax, displaced stones, the faint scorch mark where one of her more volatile components had reacted poorly to sudden impact.

She should be furious. Should be planning how to get rid of him and start over. But as she lowered the bucket into the well, she found herself thinking about the way he’d looked when he tasted bread for the first time, like he was discovering something miraculous.

When she finally returned, Cassiel was exactly where she’d left him, but he’d managed to pull several more bent feathers from his wings. They lay in a neat pile beside him, and he was examining one with scientific curiosity.

“They’re not growing back,” he said without looking up.

Morrigan set the bucket down and moved to check the pot, which thankfully hadn’t burned. At least the vegetables were mostly cooked through. “Did you expect them to?”

“I don’t know what to expect anymore.” He held up the feather- once radiant white, now a dull gray with a bent shaft. “These used to be self-maintaining. Perfect. Now they’re just... broken.”

There was something in his voice that made Morrigan look at him more carefully. He was staring at the damaged feather like it held answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask.

“Maybe they’re not meant to be perfect anymore,” she said carefully. “Maybe they’re meant to be yours.”

Cassiel looked up at her, confusion clear on his angular features.

“In Heaven, everything was maintained for you, right? Your wings, your appearance, your purpose- all of it predetermined and preserved. But now...” She dumped the bucket of water into the pot before setting it aside. “Now you have to figure out what you want them to be.”

“I don’t understand the distinction.”

“Look at my hair,” she said, pulling a strand forward. “It’s not perfect. It tangles, it gets dirty, sometimes I cut it badly when I trim it myself. But it’s mine. I choose how to braid it, when to wash it, whether to let it grow or cut it short. The imperfection is part of what makes it mine.”

Cassiel took a long moment to think about it, staring into the swirling pot as Morrigan stirred it. He didn’t quite get it, but she wanted to cheer him up and he got the rough idea.

They weren’t perfect anymore, but that just meant that he could make them his own- a reflection of himself, sort of.

Maybe that was her point. Imperfections tell a story of sorts, one that he wasn’t able to tell up until now.

Morrigan wordlessly set a bowl of now steaming soup in front of Cassiel, the soft click of the bowl against the table enough to pull him from his thoughts. He had been staring holes into the air for a while.

His wings almost jerked open and knocked something over, but he managed to stop them at the last moment. He tried to play it off like it was something he had intended, but the weird wiggle that resulted only made Morrigan even more sure of what had happened.

“Soup. It’s the easiest way to get rid of leftovers and hangovers,” Morrigan explained, the thought of Cassiel drunk or hungover bringing a smile to her lips. Maybe some other time, when she hadn’t already lost a bunch of herbs to his wings. “Eat up.”

She dipped her spoon into her own bowl of soup, collecting a little puddle of fat that had rendered from the sausages she added when Cassiel was so lost in his thoughts that he actually stopped his usual mental catalogue of everything.

What was it she said? Something about her hair. It seemed so insignificant to her that she had already forgotten it, yet it had sent him deep into thought.

She didn’t eat yet, waiting for Cassiel to take the first step.

He submerged his spoon into the soup, only letting a bit of broth flow onto it without any chunks and lifting it up to his lips. The glimmer of oil atop the broth caught his eye and the smell. Oh, the smell!

“Careful,” Morrigan warned, lifting her spoon to her lips and blowing on it. “Blow on it, like this.”

Cassiel slowly mimicked Morrigan, watching the steam waft away as he sat up a bit straighter like he was preparing for a verdict.

The broth was warm and rich against his tongue, different from the bread in ways he couldn’t have anticipated. Where the bread had been solid and substantial, the soup was liquid comfort that seemed to spread warmth through his chest and down all the way to his fingertips. He could taste layers- the earthiness of the vegetables, something savory and deep that must have been the sausage, herbs he couldn’t identify but that made his mouth water for more, and the subtle tang of salt.

“Good?” Morrigan asked, noting the way his eyes had closed as he savored the first spoonful.

“Very,” Cassiel said, opening his eyes to look at her with something approaching wonder. “How do you make something so... complex? There are so many different elements, but they work together instead of competing.”

“Practice. And knowing what belongs together. People write recipes exactly for that.” She took her own spoonful, watching him over the rim of her bowl. “Try getting some of the actual vegetables on your spoon this time. The chunks aren’t going to hurt you.”

Cassiel obediently loaded his spoon with a piece of carrot and what looked like turnip, along with the broth. His reaction was immediate- a slight widening of his eyes, followed by a thoughtful chewing that suggested he was analyzing every component.

“The carrot is sweet,” he observed. “But the turnip is... earthier. And there’s something else...”

“Thyme. And a bit of rosemary from my garden.” Morrigan felt an unexpected warmth at his careful attention to her cooking. It had been years since anyone had paid such close attention to something she’d made. “The herbs change everything, don’t they?”

“They do.” He paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Is this what you meant about transformation magic? How all these separate things become something new together?”

Morrigan nodded, surprised by how quickly he’d grasped the concept. “Exactly. Each ingredient contributes something, but the final result is more than just the sum of its parts. It’s alchemy, in a way.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Cassiel methodically working through his bowl while Morrigan found herself watching his reactions. Everything was new to him- the temperature, the textures, the way flavors built and changed as he chewed. It was like watching someone discover color for the first time. The pure admiration he showed to her craft, how he noticed the work put into it with such innocence.

It was refreshing and made her pay attention to it herself. As she approached the end of her bowl, she started picking out specific combinations of vegetables and pieces of sausage to check how it all melded together in the broth. The rabbit would have been amazing for this, but Soot needed his tax.

When they’d both finished eating, Morrigan collected their bowls and set them aside for washing. The fire had died down to glowing embers, casting the room in warm, flickering shadows. Outside, she could hear the first drops of rain beginning to patter against the windows.

“Right,” she said, surveying the space with fresh eyes. “Sleeping arrangements.”

Cassiel looked around the transformed room with obvious uncertainty. “I could simply... sit. As I am now. I don’t require as much rest as mortals do.”

“But you do require some,” Morrigan pointed out. “You said you were tired. More tired than you’ve ever been.”

“Yes, but-“

“No buts. If you’re staying here, you’re going to rest properly.” She moved to her bed, examining the corner where it now sat. She didn’t need to mention that him tiredly sweeping stuff off of counters would just create more work for her. “The problem is your wings. They’re too wide for you to lie on your side, and lying on your back would be...” She gestured helplessly. It would squish all his wings together, which seemed like the worst possible option.

“Uncomfortable at best, damaging at worst,” Cassiel finished. “The feathers aren’t meant to support body weight, especially not in their current condition.”

Morrigan chewed her lip, thinking. Then her eyes lit up. “What if you didn’t lie down at all?”

“I’m not following.”

“What’s the most comfortable position you’ve found so far?”

Cassiel gestured to where he sat. “Cross-legged, with my wings spread behind me. But I can’t sleep sitting up-“

“Who says you have to sit up?” Morrigan moved to her pile of blankets and pillows, pulling several free. “What if we made a nest?”

“A... nest?”

“Think about it. Birds don’t lie flat when they sleep. They settle down into their feathers, tuck their heads, let their bodies rest naturally.” She began arranging pillows on the floor in a rough circle. “What if we built up a support system around you? Something that would let you settle into that comfortable position but with padding to rest against?”

Cassiel watched her work with growing interest. “You mean... lean forward? Into the pillows?”

“Exactly. Like how you might rest your head on your arms at a table, but more comfortable.^I imagine laying down completely wouldn’t be too comfortable either.” She gestured for him to move to the center of the pillow arrangement. “Try it. I don’t have enough pillows for it now, but we can pick some up when I take you to the village for the first time.”

Hesitantly, Cassiel repositioned himself in the center of her makeshift circle. He spread his wings behind him, then slowly let himself lean forward until his chest rested against the largest pillow. His head turned to one side, cheek against the soft fabric.

“How does that feel?” Morrigan asked.

“Actually... not terrible.” He sounded surprised. “But I think I need more support here.” He gestured to his right side.

Morrigan nodded, but simply tossed the last pillow she had in her arms onto her bed. “You’ll have to make do for now. I’m gonna send a raven tomorrow to the seamstress down in the village and hopefully she’ll have some more blankets and pillows for your nest ready.”

She draped a blanket over his shoulders and wings. The effect was oddly endearing- he looked like some great, protective bird settling down for the night. But the only bird she could think of that could compare to the stumbling buffoon that had crashed into her ritual was a cardinal who repeatedly flew against her window or the raven of her sister.

She moved to bank the fire, leaving just enough coals to keep the room from growing too cold. When she turned back, Cassiel’s eyes were already closed, his breathing deep and even. The lines of exhaustion that had marked his face since his arrival were finally beginning to smooth.

Morrigan climbed into her own bed, pulling the single remaining blanket up to her chin. The room was quieter than it had been the entire day- no crashing, no apologetic mumbling, just the soft sound of rain against the windows and Cassiel’s steady breathing.

She hadn’t even noticed when it started raining.

Soot padded over and leaped onto the bed, settling himself against her side with a contented purr. His warmth was more than welcome given her blanket situation.

“What do you think, Soot?” she whispered, scratching behind his ears. “Think we can make this work?”

Soot’s purr deepened, and he pressed his head against her hand. From his makeshift nest on the floor, Cassiel shifted slightly, one wing adjusting against the pillows.

For the first time since his dramatic arrival, Morrigan’s home felt peaceful. Different, certainly- The space rearranged, the routines disrupted, an angel sleeping in her living room- but peaceful nonetheless.

Tomorrow they would figure out more permanent solutions. Tomorrow she would teach him to sweep and he would ask her about her herbs. Tomorrow they would continue the strange dance of learning to live together.

Goddess above, when was the last time she had so much planned for tomorrow?