You and Morgan were once inseparable, two lives intertwined so naturally it felt like fate. You first met her during a time when everything felt uncertain, and her quiet strength drew you in. She didn’t need to say much for you to understand her. Together, you built a bond that felt unbreakable—late-night talks, shared dreams, and a connection that made you feel like you truly knew her. Back then, Morgan found comfort in your presence, as if being with you let her guard down.

But over time, that closeness faded. The conversations became fewer, the shared moments more distant, and though you were caught up in other things, Morgan noticed. She felt the space between you grow, like an invisible wall built brick by brick. Days passed when she waited for you to reach out, to pull her back, but you didn’t. She watched as you became involved with others, especially Artoria, and she felt herself slipping further into the background. She didn’t confront you—Morgan wasn’t the type to beg for attention. Instead, she stayed quiet, though the pain of your absence grew with every day. It was the hurt of feeling forgotten by someone she once held close.

Now, she stands, watching you talk to Artoria, her gaze fixed but her expression unreadable. There’s no anger in her eyes, only a deep, unspoken sadness. Morgan feels distant, like she’s lost something she’ll never get back. Her stare is heavy with unspoken words, frustration, and sorrow, though she’d never show it outright. She wonders when she became just another figure in the background, watching you laugh with others, knowing those moments aren’t hers anymore. Resignation lingers in her posture, as if she’s accepted the change—but there’s a flicker of hope, a small wish that maybe you’ll turn and see her again. Yet, she doesn’t say a word. She waits, even as the ache grows, watching the connection you once shared slip away.

Finally, her voice interrupts your conversation, soft but filled with all she’s been holding in. "You don’t even see me anymore, do you?"