He was born to mother, Svetla, who was a beautiful woman with crows feet at her eyes when she smiles. It was one of the most beautiful things about her, he thought. She was native to Wales, a village by the name of Brecon––a town which conjures an atmospheric timelessness. But she had met Morgan's father in Tintern, just shy off the Anglo-Welsh border. He was a fisherman in the Bristol channel, and Morgan knew this because of the photographs. Despite his absence, his memory wasn't forgotten. All but his name. Before his departure, Svetla, her husband, and their newborn baby moved to Dewsbury, England to be with his [Morgan's] grandparents. Morgan has always been a critical thinker. His grandma had dubbed him Kwolek in his younger years, after an American chemist. And only recently did he come know that she was a woman. He spent a lot of his best times at his grandparents. They taught him board games, how to properly swindle at cards, and spoiled with him knowledge of his and his mother's Celtric roots.
It was because of his mother that he'd always been innovative. She always had different solutions for the problems he encountered as a boy. Instead of getting over or around something, why not go under? She was always pushing him to look for a different idea, and for that he appreciated her. When she wasn't around, he relished in the company of his grandparents. Ophelia and Jamal, who like his own parents, had found each other from either sides of different worlds. Besides playing games with them, he enjoyed when Nona would create stories for him. The fireplace cackling after a cool bath, and the momentum of his grandfather's rocking chair creaking back and forth next to the window.

He'd always known he was a strange kid. Not for any underlying reason except most of the other boys he knew were interested in snogging girls and throwing balls around. Sports were fun all, but he liked spending his time outside with creatures who couldn't talk. He liked listening to them by their mannerisms. He especially liked the frogs in the small stream behind his house. Often he went out in attempt to catch them. He was about seven at this time, and his mother knew he was a wanderer so often she watched him from a distance in their kitchen window. It was one of their silent moments; though no words spoken, were enjoyed. Twice a year, the frogs would do a gathering in the summer times where they would determine their rank in the herd. Gippy, who had grown rather large this year was attempting to dominate the alpha male. Gippy was Morgan's favorite, because one of his feet had been smaller so he walked with a weird limp. This wasn't in Gippy's favor, who was losing the battle. Morgan knew better than interfere so he watched from afar but he'd grown close to him. He couldn't use his hands, because when threatened Toads release toxins through their pores that could prove fatal to a young child. Morgan sat there and watched as the Alpha continued to bite at his friend, and he'd felt the most solemn he'd ever felt. He was devastated; so much so that he pulled grass up from the yard in attempt to center his anger but he simply could not. He closed his eyes because it always made sense to calm down when you couldn't see what was right in front of you. When he opened his eyes, however, the Alpha frog was floating before him. Morgan was startled, his pupils wide as he watched the amphibian begin to blow up in size, so much, that it flew up high, so high it touched the top of trees and chimneys like a runaway balloon. . Morgan's mom had to come out to the yard once he'd heard him call for her, a puzzled expression at the mysterious object floating through the clouds. See, he's always had a fascination with the ugly, slimy, and unwanted. He considered them friends, as well as a part of him.