don't want to die without any scars

You'd think, just by the force of time alone, Morgawr would eventually accomplish something. Even she thought that she might have by now. But she just hadn't made any effort to improve herself and she was mostly okay with that. It was boring, sure, but she didn't know anything else. And maybe, deep, deep down, a part of her was scared. She wanted to stay a child forever, and if she couldn't do that, she wanted to become some dreamlike cryptid and haunt the woods, or something like that. She didn't want responsibility, or determination, and anything so adult and uninteresting. She wanted to make up stories and be left completely alone and unbothered to do so.

Maybe in a world where that would be allowed to happen she would be happy. But here she was, still a melancholy earthly thing, watching those she knew best of all of the strangers in the world -- she had never been one to make friends easily -- rise and make success stories of themselves, and though she didn't think she particularly wanted that sort of life, she couldn't help but be a little jealous. So she was out, the moon high above her, weaving between trees and just thinking to herself as she did, about nothing in particular. She couldn't sleep.

Speech