Darkwing Duck grinned to himself as he adjusted his hat at a rakish angle and gave a final glance-over at his appearance in the mirror. His costume was vividly clean and bright and was pressed to a crisp perfection. He was thoroughly drenched with cologne. Every feather gleamed in the soft light of the suite’s bathroom.
He pulled his cape about, hanging it in a just-so in position over his shoulders, and gave an approving nod to his reflection. He gave a mischievous grin as he turned and whirled his way to the door, still smiling as he reflected on the previous events of the day.
It had not been an easy relationship to work out, but he was relieved that it had. Now, Darkwing Duck and Morgana McCawber were married. Of all the people who had been surprised that the two had made it through together, Darkwing himself was perhaps the most surprised of all.
They had survived numerous fights, uncountable break-ups, and every other obstacle that the world had been able to throw at them. It had been hard, challenging, bittersweet, and sometimes wonderful.
When Darkwing had proposed to her, Morgana had paused for perhaps a full twenty seconds, simply gaping at the diamond ring around the stem of the red rose he had placed gently and lovingly in her hands, along with a sweet and heartfelt proposal. Then she had thrown her arms around him, crying in happiness and saying over and over, “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you! Yes!”
They had spent six months planning the ceremony (during which time the engagement was almost cancelled, but Binkie Muddlefoot had managed to save the day; that’s a story for another time, however). When they had finally gotten married that very afternoon, it was October 31----Halloween. It had been the only way for some of Morgana’s more mortally-challenged relatives to attend. And besides, she loved Halloween. Darkwing had been a bit thrown by the initial suggestion but it was one of his favorite holidays as well and the idea began to appeal to his love for the mysterious. Besides, he always found it hard to say No to her.
And it had been a beautiful wedding, mysterious and magical, just as they had wanted it. There was a terrific thunderstorm that afternoon throughout the entire ceremony, giving way to a mystical and exciting air that surrounded them all. It had been magical, even aside from the great storm. Just to actually be married. To be together.
And now, now they were together forever, with nothing to get in the way. They had finally found happiness----with each other.
And as Darkwing paused to contemplate how lucky he was to have her, he grinned to think of their future, and present, happiness.
Before he turned the doorknob, he suddenly stopped and switched off the light. There was a small window in the room, over the spacious Jacuzzi, and Darkwing studied his reflection in the light coming from the full moon at the window. They had gone to Translyvania for their honeymoon (at Morgana’s request), and the night was eerie and wonderful.
Darkwing grinned luxuriously at the way the light played off the corners of his cape, making him look all the more mysterious. This was going to be fun.
He walked back to the door, gently turning the knob, and softly exited, shutting the door behind him.
Darkwing crept through the sitting area and made his way to the bedroom of the suite. The door was shut and he paused to straighten his cape one last time before taking a deep breath and slowly pushing open the door.
Mrs. Morgana McCawber-Mallard was standing towards the far end of the room, looking out the window, her back to the door. The full moon was directly overhead from her vantage-point and the light cast her in a pool of moonbeams. There was a breeze coming through the window, and it was blowing about her, streaming the white cobweb-silk curtains around her, like winds parting along a moonlit ocean, at the hem of her gown. The dress reached to the floor and pooled at her feet like a scarlet wave. Her hair was down----Darkwing had never before seen her without her hair being put up----and was rippling softly in the wind. She was wearing a dress that looked similar to the red dress she always wore, but Darkwing knew that it was cut a bit differently and hinted at more than it usually did. A black silk scarf was about her arms, giving her a mysterious, sensual look.
He grinned to himself as he softly made his way into the room and carefully closed the door behind him without so much as a clicking noise. Then he slipped towards her, taking care not to sound off so much as a footstep.
Darkwing slid up behind Morgana and stopped a foot or two away. Even now, just to see her so taken in the wind and the night, she was beautiful to him. He smiled and stepped closer, placing his hands on her hips and whispering a single word.
“Boo.”
“Drake!” she gasped, turning around, and looked at him strangely as she took in his Darkwing costume. She slid his hands off her hips, paying no attention to his slightly disappointed expression. “That is, Dark . . . but I thought we were going to dinner.”
He smiled at her and lowered his eyelids, taking on the mysterious expression that was his Darkwing trademark. “I thought, maybe I’ll just . . . skip dinner this once.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Morgana, smiling----in spite of herself, thought Darkwing----at the look in his eyes. “You haven’t eaten since the reception, and that was four hours ago . . .”
“Hungry, yes . . . in a matter of speaking,” Darkwing whispered mischievously, and almost Negaduck-style grin curving the edges of his beak. He gently took her hands, and Morgana looked from his hands to his eyes, a question forming in her gaze.
“Morgana,” Darkwing said sincerely, holding her hands tightly in his, “I love you more than I thought I could love anyone----”
“What about Gosalyn?” she grinned.
He returned the smile. “Perhaps I should rephrase that. I love you in a way that I thought I never could. You mean the world to me, Morgana. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad that you’re my wife. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He raised her hands in his grip and held them to his heart, a look of something akin to pain passing across his face.
Morgana looked surprised at his words but she simply lowered her lids and smiled, “I love you too, Dark, dearest. I had given up a long time ago trying to find the perfect duck, but you showed me that I just hadn’t waited long enough. I found him in you, Darkwing Duck. I love you so much.”
A joyful smile spread across Darkwing’s face and he continued to hold her hands over his heart. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, Morgana. Thank you so much. I----I haven’t been able to trust anyone but Gosalyn and Launchpad for a long time. It was so hard for me to open up to you, to share my heart and my feelings and even my identity,” and he tugged gently at his mask to emphasize his point, “Because I was so . . . afraid. I was afraid to trust, because I was afraid I’d be hurt. But now I see that you would never hurt me. I trust you, Morgana.”
“W-with your life?” There was a flicker of doubt in Morgana’s eyes.
“And with my heart,” he said gently, and raised her hands to his lips. He kissed them softly with such a tender gentleness, almost afraid that he would break them. As sure as he was of their happiness, it still seemed so fragile to him.
“Oh Dark----” a tear sprang to Morgana’s eye.
Darkwing kissed her hands again, a bit harder than before, and smiled up at her. “It was a beautiful wedding, don’t you think, Morgana?”
Morgana managed to free one hand to brush away the tear----only to have it instantly reclaimed by Darkwing. “It was gorgeous, Darkwing. Absolutely gorgeous. That bat-wing décor really put a nice touch on the mood in the church, don’t you think?”
“Ye-e-es,” said Darkwing, deciding it was a silly thing to get in a fight over and a little white lie never hurt anyone. “Of course, any place with you is gorgeous in my book, Morgana.”
“Oh Dark, how sweet!” she laughed rather coyly, once again withdrawing a hand to lay on her chest in mock demureness. “It’s all so . . . romantic!”
Darkwing smiled at her mysteriously, drawing closer to her. “I always felt that there was something special about Halloween Night. It’s a perfect romantic setting.”
He gently placed her hands on his shoulders before wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you for marrying me, my magical Morgana.”
“Darkwing, before we----I think I should----”
He silenced her by leaning forward and kissing her slowly and deeply. After several long moments he drew back so that he could look into her eyes.
“It’s been a long seven years to work out our differences, Morgue,” he said, placing his hands on the small of her back and drawing her to him. He gave a seductive grin. “I want to make this worth the wait.”
“Dark, dearest, I----”
He missed the urgency in her tone. “Me too, love. Me too.”
“Listen to me, Darkwing, there’s . . . something . . .”
She pushed against his shoulders, trying to distance herself from him. He mistook her movement as not panic but passion, and slid even closer to her, finding her lips with his own. She continued to push ineffectively at his shoulders, but after a few moments she stopped with something almost like a whimper and threw her arms around him, pressing herself against him.
Darkwing grinned inwardly and continued to kiss her arduously, one hand slowly stroking the small of her back as he pulled at the clasp on her gown to open it. Morgana sank into his arms for a moment, then drew back just enough to take his fedora smoothly from his head and drop it gently behind her. He made a gentle murmuring noise as she dropped one hand from where she was caressing his face and the base of his beak, and she drew her fingers down his spine, slipping her hand up his jacket and shirt and running her hand through the feathers of his back. Darkwing took one hand from the base of her spine and pulled his cape up and away, allowing her to run her hand even further up his back, and wrapped the elegant cloak around both of them as they kissed.
They stayed like that for several more moments, and suddenly Darkwing slid from her grasp like liquid and gently took her arms, leading her towards the huge king-sized bed of the suite. He stopped her at the edge, raising an eyebrow as he studied her face.
The moment of pause seemed to have triggered something in Morgana. Nervousness, he supposed. He could understand that. He was a little nervous, too, but he trusted her implicitly and he knew that this was going to be a beautiful night to remember.
“Darkwing, please. I need to----” Morgana tried to find the right words.
“It’s okay, Morgue,” he said gently, softly, so absolutely understanding and relating to her need for expression. “I’m right here.”
Before she could say another word, he began to kiss her again. This time, she couldn’t resist for even a moment, immediately responding to his desire with her own. She ran her hands over him, and he shivered at her touch. The kiss went on and on. Morgana moved to wrap her arms more firmly around him, but suddenly he placed one hand on her shoulder and another at her back and gently laid her back on the bed.
They continued to kiss for several long moments. Before Morgana could react father Darkwing suddenly sat up, the light from the full moon outside illuminating his profile in dark shadow. As Morgana looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and her beak slightly parted, her breathing deep, she was only dimly able to make out his face. But she could clearly see the bright, glittering eyes looking at her in deep love and passion, she felt that she had never loved him more.
He smiled at her sensuously, and his tone was seductive. “Happy Halloween, Morgana.”
“Happy Halloween to you, my little Honeywumpus.” Her tone was breathless.
His smile broadened, and he lay down at her side, his beak connecting with her’s in an open-mouthed, ardent, heated kiss. They slowly closed their eyes as the flame intensified. She began to pull at the buttons of his jacket, unfastening the clasps in a burst of fire.
They continued to kiss deeply as she pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the side of the bed, the cape swirling slightly as it caught in the breeze from the still-open window, before she began to pull at his shirt. She pulled up as his hands on her back unzipped the back of the dress from the open clasp. They lay back again and Darkwing slid his fingers deeply through her feathers under the loosely-hanging, open neckline of the gown. His other hand slid down her side, pulling the folds of the dress away, reaching up the skirt to run his fingers along her legs.
His hand continued to grope at folds of material as Morgana placed one hand over his to tug off the top of her dress, her other hand still pressing against his chest as she sighed in passion.
Darkwing continued to kiss her but his hand paused almost in confusion. Then he suddenly moved his hand halfway up her skirt and pressed down. And felt----the bottom of the bed. He could feel the folds of darkened material, as cold and clammy as mist.
Clammy?
He moved back and out of her grasp so suddenly that she gasped. Her hand came to her chest, pulling the gown’s material back over her body and pressing it against her in something akin to fright. “Dark?”
Somehow, that voice, always so seductive to his ears even when used in anger, sent a chill down his spine. “Morgue.”
“Yes?”
Another chill. He stood up at the side of the bed, staring down in confusion.
“What is it?” she asked, coquettish. It sent off a warning bell. Her tone was too sweet. His instincts were ringing in alarm.
“I-I’m sorry, Morgue, it’s just that----” He paused, trying to find the words.
“Yes?” She batted her eyes at him.
He smiled sheepishly, but he was far from feeling that way. “Oh, nothing, I guess . . .” She smiled in understanding.
He continued to smile at her, projecting an air of calm absurdity at his ridiculous, momentary notion. “It was just, when I was . . . well, you know, for a minute I thought----this is silly, now!----that you didn’t have----”
He stopped suddenly, leaned down to her, and without warning grabbed the bottom hem of her scarlet gown before throwing it back to her stomach. He pulled it up far, so that her full bottom length was revealed to the waist.
And for the first time, ever, exactly what was under Morgana’s floor-length skirt was visible to Darkwing.
He never heard Morgana’s gasp, he was too busy staring down at her in horror.
Connected at Morgana’s waist, there was----emptiness. Dark emptiness. At her waist, where her hips should be, there was a solidly deep and swirling silver cloud of mist and shadows. Like a genie’s steam cloud, but in a looser shape, it was the Fog of a deep midnight, curling among tombstones at a long-forgotten graveyard.
Small wonder she always wore such a long skirt.
Her hips. Her legs. Her feet. They were nothing but swirling, shapeless mist.
Darkwing wavered for a moment, as if making a decision about something, before uttering a spine-chilling shriek and passing out cold on the floor.
“Dark!” Morgana cried in concern, not moving from her place on the bed. She drew the shoulders of her gown back in place with a shrugging motion, looking down in sadness and worry at her prone husband. Then she giggled a bit impishly and began to sit up, still not drawing the skirt material back over herself.
“Poor Dark,” she said affectionately, pulling at a strand of hair falling over her shoulder. She felt a bit guilty. Not that it was her fault----her passion had merely caused her lower half to de-form; she had forgotten about that little side-effect that Darkwing always had on her! It would be more of a problem tonight, perhaps . . .
Before she went to kneel down by the prone masked mallard, she carefully drew the dress back into place. The mist that was the substance for her ghostly legs, beginning to settle into normal form, swirled slightly as the material brushed around and through them. She waited until her ghost-half had settled into place before straightening the top of the dress and stepping down off the bed and next to Darkwing.
“Hope he’s alright, poor dear,” she said thoughtfully as she pulled his head into her arms. Darkwing was still very unconscious. “What did he expect, though? I’ve told him before that there’s spirit blood in my veins. And I did try to tell him tonight that this would happen!
“Still,” she continued to herself, for her familiars were nowhere in sight, “Maybe I should have told him about that teeny little problem before our honeymoon!” She grinned to herself. “I think he’ll be understanding, though. After all, this may complicate certain aspects of----our relationship,” and here she blushed, “But it won’t make them impossible! I’ll just have to explain a few things to him about how this works . . . or would it be easier just to clarify by example?” She laughed to herself at that idea. “Yes, that should work out nicely. What a night we’ll have!
“When he wakes up, of course.” She smiled again. “I do hope he’ll be understanding about this . . .”
When Darkwing finally awoke, and was coherent enough to listen to her explanation, Morgana was pleasantly surprised to find that he was more understanding than she had even hoped for. And it was a glorious night to remember.
Later, when asked how her honeymoon had gone, Morgana would smile mischievously and answer calmly, “Oh, it was marvelous. Positively magical.”
Exchanging a wink with her husband, she couldn’t help but to always add, “Of course, Drake here was . . . in a fog through most of it.”
And Drake never could really think of anything to answer to that, for after all, in a matter of speaking, he had been.
Not that he was complaining . . .
So he’d simply smile, take her hands, and agree. “Yes, you could say that,” he’d nod, winking back at Morgana. “Of course, Halloween always does that me.
”That is,” he’d add happily, “Ever since I met Morgana!”