It was perfect weather. Well, perfect weather for the setting of evil schemes and nefarious plots. In other words, it was deep in a forest in a hovel, with a thunderstorm thrown in for good measure.

Say what you will about Morgana's tastes changing as she got progressively more evil, but she did always have a flair for the dramatic.

Speaking of which, she was in the middle of concocting one of her famous speeches. The more plebian amongst you readers might write off all her speeches as all saying the same thing, and ridiculously overdramatic.

They would be right.

This, however, is only one way to look at it. The more literarily aware of those subjected to her rants couldn't help but admire her talent for saying the exact same thing over and over in completely different words, which she would do for hours on end, should she be given the chance.

Needless to say, she never was able to attain the time and audience necessary to exhaust her knowledge of speech-giving, and so always had more material on hand. Nevertheless, it was always important to be prepared, which is what led to Morgana sitting in her appropriately evil-looking hovel while composing bitter rhetoric against the leaders of Camelot, the citizens of Camelot, the weather of Camelot, and pretty much any random thing she could think of.

You'd never know it from listening to her speech, however. When Morgana got to use her full persuasive powers, it was a thing of glory.

In fact, you'd probably find yourself nodding along, agreeing that yes, the crop-destroying storms that often plague the villages are obviously a metaphor for how the corruption of Uther is ripping all the creativity of their society up by the roots and drowning it in a torrential downpour of hatred and bigotry, and indeed, you couldn't have put it better yourself.

Even if Morgana wasn't going to use this speech and, let's be honest, that's laughably unlikely, she liked to stay in practice.

So, as the storm raged on, Morgana sat at her chair, debating over whether she should describe Arthur's taste in servants as that of a "donkey faced buffoon" or "gormless troglodyte".

There was probably a dramatic lightning bolt after that, but she was too preoccupied to notice.