A young woman was sat near the fireplace, head tucked in silky cushions with her long raven hair spread across them, resembling ripe rapes' vine in Southern gardens. While outside the wind was blowing fiercely, sending shivers across the night folk's furry bodies. The queen of winter has befallen the country, at last, taking back joy and cheer from any living thing standing on her way. Alas, she didn't dare to steal the King's warden affections for his son. Nor, she thought it suitable to lessen the pain, at least.

It was past midnight and the only reason Morgana's restless mind couldn't be at peace was in the account of him.

Him. It's always been only him. From the moment a little girl met her childhood companion - it was by design their fates aligned. But it was her will that persisted she stayed by his side through years and years. Her ardent wish has been to be of service to him, despite her inklings sometimes to turn back time and escape this monotonous life; the neverending circle of Arthur Pendragon's cage that became her heart.

She used to resent him. With every fibre in her body; she desired to pour icy water over her burning soul.

'Torturous, treacherous mind!' Morgana cried, closing her eyes with force.