Hello hello, and welcome to this week’s Microfiction Monday, where I am sharing a story of The Morrigan, who has adapted to the times, and changed. This one is for The Writer’s Mess Mythological March event, and the prompt was pick a myth that isn’t Greek or Norse, and adapt it.

She stood behind the desk, watching the water slosh in the fish tank as the machines all hit the spin cycle at the same time.

She woke before dawn, to complete the washing in the 3 hours a day that the laundromat was closed. If it weren’t for the 26 industrial size machines, she would spend her entire existence trying to wring out the blood stains by the side of a river, like she had in the times before.

When the garments were clean, she would weave her magic to leave the laundromat spotless, and cede this territory to the day shift. They wouldn’t give her a second glance, not the cleaning lady, whom they all described differently: young, middle aged, elderly.

She transformed in the nearest ally, and begin her flight, both terrifying and inspiring as it was to those who saw her. They would not be able to explain later why they reacted as they had, but to those few who still knew, still believed, they would bow at their altar that night, and thank the goddess Morrigan for her interdiction.

It wasn’t much, it wasn’t what it once was, but it was enough to keep her standing after most of the other pantheons had fallen, and she for one would revel in every last prayer.


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