WOW. Almost a month in, and I'm FINALLY done. This took SOOO much work, from finding an idea, to actually writing this, to the revising process that is finally, blissfully, done. I would like to thank Milde (MildeAmasoj) for her awesome poem that inspired my poem that inspired this story, Oz (CaptainOzone) for her selfless and beautiful editing, even in the face of a bio exam, and my knight (nooneyoushouldknow aka Wonky) for all of her support, online and off.

This story is based off of the song 'Seven Devils' by Florence + The Machine, and is a response to Halloween Challenges #2 & 3 from The Heart of Camelot website :D

A darkened corner

Burning bright

A child cries

Into the night

With eyes of the devil

Eyes that hurt

His steps they falter

Next to her

His face shifts,

To her it seems

From father, brother, friend—

She screams.

Seven devils all around her

Seven devils in her heart

Lighting fire to her shelter

Tearing her

Apart

A steady drip drip filled the darkened cavern with a maddening cadence, twisted into an imperfect harmony with the crazed chanting of a witch.

"Forslean earm! Sceawian mid blod min scaþa!"

A sickening crack gave way to a sharp moan of pleasure as blood now flowed freely from her hand. The pain was agonizing and hypnotizing and she fell to the floor, trembling in pleasure and weakness.

It was Samhain.

Not a day to be alone, or a day to be scrying, but her victims were all gone and she missed the flow of red on her arms, sickening and addicting and beautiful. She shook.

"Sceawian Camelot..."

There they were, her most hated (and her most feared) remembering and honoring the dead, lighting candles to guide the spirits to the otherworld. The golden haired king laughed softly as he kissed his queen, and she smiled, a little sadly, in return. Morgana's eyes lingered over the raven-haired man who was now making a jibe at the king, eyes full of respect and love, and her mind began to drum out a steady beat in her head.

Hatehatehatehatehate—

Screaming, she flung the basin at the wall, covering the cavern in splashes of blood. Red seeped into the cracks and crevices of her mind. Through the pools on the floor, she could see her reflection, and through her reflection, she saw her first weakness. Her hands, her face, her mind were awash in red, and there was no escaping it. Her mind was fixed on the flow of the cloak, the brightness of gold against scarlet—for too often had she seen red and thought of Camelot. Morgana gasped as the memory hit her.

Her first kill. It had been a nameless knight on a meaningless patrol, but as she ended his life, she realized that she was destroying a family, friendships, a life. His body hit the earth, staining it red, and her whole world shattered. She knew that her hands would forever be scarlet, that his meaningless face would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. A split second later, the other knights were dead on the ground and she knew that there was no going back.

She fell to the floor, trembling out of blood loss and something she couldn't explain, couldn't control. Belatedly, she realized that she was covered in blood.

Stained, stained dress, stained hands, stained heart...

Morgana gasped for air, scrambling back, as if to separate herself from the unwanted memories laying siege to her mind. In the corner of her eye there was a flash of blond hair, and she whirled, heart pounding, but there was no one there.

She was cold, colder than she had ever been, and her hands shook around the dagger. It was only one second, one motion, and the task would be done, taking Morgause with it. Morgana whimpered. The only one who had ever loved her, the only one who trusted her, who never betrayed her... how could she let that precious life drain from her hands, lost forever... and yet how could she betray the wishes of her powerless, already dying sister? She was lost and afraid and in pain, but the blond under her hand was gasping for breath and there was a choice to be made. She readied herself for the impact.

The scrying bowl exploded. Bits and pieces flew through the air, cutting her cheek, ricocheting off rocks and landing in pools of scarlet. Unflinching, Morgana reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. There was a numbness now, to pain, and the cracks in her walls were so small she almost forgot they were there.

But they were there, and she would never forget it, or why they were there in the first place. Murder, heartache, betrayal... it came and went, and she learned where to stand in the world. She bathed in sin—sin, the only constant in her life. Gwen, her friend, Mordred, her son, Arthur, her brother... They all betrayed her. Death and murder were devilish, brutal masters, but they would never leave her, as long as she learned how to control them. They would never come close to the cruelty that humans were capable of.

Only when you drive them to cruelty.

There it was again—that voice in her head—unrelenting, unstoppable, driving her insane.

"Go away."

You broke me, you stepped on me, you betrayed me over and over, but you will never be rid of me, you can never slay me like you can your loved ones because I'm always here, whispering in your ear, forever part of you...

"SILENCE!" She was panting now, the battle with her consciousness sapping her strength. Where was all of that red coming from?

She laughed, her eyes bright and alive, as her maid, no, her friend, finished her hair. The darker woman blushed and Morgana turned in triumph, a smirk fixed on her face.

"So you DO care for him!"

"N-no, I mean yes, I mean—Morgana!" The lady laughed, and patted her stammering friend on the back.

"I wouldn't talk to Arthur like that. He might get the wrong idea." Morgana smiled at the beet-red maid, warmth flooding her features. "I'm happy for you Gwen."

"Happy for you."

"Happy for youyouyouyou."

"Haaaaaaaaaaa-"

Morgause looked up, eyes flashing. "You cannot allow this serving girl to take your rightful place upon the throne. Whatever relationship exists between Arthur and... Gwen... you must destroy it."

The younger witch smirked and nodded.

Morgana shivered and stared in disbelief at the red on her hands.

The sword fell out of the prince's hands, falling onto the mud. He looked up in anger and she gave a call of victory.

"You cheated!"

"I most certainly did not. You just won't admit that I'm more than a match for you."

The prince stared in disbelief, spluttered, and then retrieved his sword. He readied the blade.

"Four out of seven?"

She laughed.

"You're on."

Goldenhairhurtpainrealbrotherdarkdarkdarkdark

"What happened to you Morgana? I thought we were friends." His voice caught, and there were tears in his eyes, and for a second her heart stopped. There was this feeling, alien and yet familiar, building inside her, begging for a release, begging to be heard.

"As did I," the witch sneered. Instantly she felt a jolt of relief, but then the regret hit her, hard and powerful, and her words almost changed. However her heart hardened, and they didn't.

"But alas, we were both wrong."

Why were her hands red? She looked up, and her breath hitched.

A smile, a hug and he was like her little brother, like her son. She cared for him, looked after him, went out of her way to make him laugh. He, too, had seen pain and she found comfort, home, with him—a home that she hadn't had since Gorlois died. Morgana held him to her side and knew that if she ever let go she would lose herself.

When she emerged from her darkness, when hope again was fresh, she saw him again, and her heart jumped. Overwhelmed with joy, she almost forgot her purpose, but then Arthur, like a weary curse, jumped in the back of her mind, and she forgot Mordred in a rush of anger at the king who killed her kind.

A sword slid into her back. She heard a familiar voice. Betrayal cut her stronger than ever before, and she fell into darkness.

The walls were red, too. She brushed the stained stone lightly, eyes wide but unseeing. Her heart pounded.

He was a father to her, in every way. He was there when she mourned for her true father, and when she was so lonely that she cried herself to sleep, he hired a maid to watch over her. He constantly smiled at the sound of her voice and drunk in the sight of her, his ward (his daughter).

Then they would fight, and like two firecrackers trapped in glass, the whole castle would explode with their feud. She would scream and cry, and he would shout and run his hands through his hair, and her whole world would collapse and rebuild in a matter of minutes. But at the end, they would calm, and forgive, and they would always, always be good again. Always.

"Do you really hate me so much?" She turned, eyes not on fire with rage, but dead and cold, lost to him by his own doing. Her voice trembled with rage.

"You cannot begin to know how much I hate you."

The anger was growing, building inside of her like a storm at sea, and she felt the red-orange waves lapping around her. She could either control it or give herself to it, as she had so many times before. A face reflected in the pool beneath her, his azure eyes piercing and souless, and she gave herself to the storm.

It was so sudden that she never had time to wonder how it had happened. She could only wonder why she had never noticed him there before. One day went by, and he was unquestionably a part of her life, just as much as Arthur or Gwen, appearing out of nowhere. His eyes, a striking blue, seemed to glow as he talked, and it wasn't until months after his arrival (she caught herself staring at him, wanting to ruffle his perfect raven hair) that she realized how attracted she really was. He challenged her authority with reckless cheekiness, challenged her intelligence with a wit to match her own. He was funny and different and never told her what to do (unlike Uther in his stubbornness or Arthur in his pride). Instead, he helped her find the right path, revealing his character in the process. He brought her flowers. She found that she could tell him anything, even her deepest secret, which he handled carefully, quietly, so quietly that she wondered about secrets of his own. But she valued his friendship, his presence above almost all others, even past the man she thought of as a father, so she never pried about them.

But then her world exploded in poison and heartache, and she was left broken and hurting and helpless. She clung to the first person to show any sympathy, and she never really let go.

(When she saw him again she tried to pretend that it didn't hurt.)

(But she always remembered.)

(And in her kingdom, she knew who would be the first to die.)

"But beware. A man named Emrys will walk in your shadow. He is your destiny, and he is your doom."

A shadow. A terror. A whisper in the wind. It didn't matter how many armies fell before her power, or how many secrets she could twist out of even the loyalist of souls. For he would always be three, four, seven steps ahead or her, and just when she thought she was ahead of him, he was right behind her, and wherever she needed to go, that's just where he would be. Her enemies and her allies all believed that she, Morgana Pendragon, was fearless, soulless, a dangerous vessel of blind rage. And she almost was. But not entirely.

She feared nothing more than him.

Years later she would learn that her most hated and most feared were one and the same. In the depths of her mind, she would rewrite everything she knew, and she would channel her malice and horror into the pathological creation of a man that she loathed with a deep dark terror-laced bitterness, a man that attracted her like no other, but a man she would also kill in a heartbeat.

Merlin Emrys.

They led a twisted, loveless, lust-filled existence, dancing with fire and poison and death, wrapped up in the lightless mess of their own doing, and she would forever blame him for the hole that she had dug for herself.

She screamed and clawed at her face, drawing blood, adding more and more red to the floor. Her eyes flashed gold, and potions shattered against the wall, talismans flew to the ground. The whole cavern shook with her rage.

Hatehatehatehatehate—

The room blurred, and Morgana stumbled and fell, her head hitting stone. The blood seemed to flow around her in a scarlet haze, fueling her madness. She lay, unable to move, laughing in a crazed anger, eyes burning with cruel ambition.

Hatehatehatehatehate—

Her eyes burned gold.

The whole of Camelot stood before her, there for the taking, its walls burning brightly in the fading sun of her eyes. Darkness threatened, her breath hastened, and everything eclipsed and fell into place. She walked, trancelike, through the streets, passing screaming civilians, turning with glistening eyes to watch a crying, bloody girl fall in the mud, then scramble away. Knights clashed against creatures of the dead with shouts and cries, blood staining the great lion's gold. She walked past all of them, stepping over bodies, through the battle of her making. The castle spread before her. She pushed open the doors.

She glided past panicked servants and rushing guards, walking through them all, one purpose fixed in her mind. The throne door slid open. There was the throne, its jewels glistening, there for the taking. There in her hands was the dagger, coated in the blood of her sister. The crown was hers.

And suddenly there they were, eyes cold and expressionless. They formed a semi-circle around the throne, facing her, their irises boring into her soul. She stopped, staring in horror. For a moment, nothing moved, nothing breathed, and she saw nothing but the throne and them. Then she screamed and cursed, tore her hair, threw spell after spell at them. Her fire passed right through Merlin. Her poison flew past Gwen. She yelled and cried and shattered windows and broke floors. She begged them to leave, screamed her vengeance if they didn't, and promised what she would do if they didn't disappear. Her dagger clattered on the floor by Morgause. Still they stared, eyes never leaving her face, unflinching and unbreakable and unavoidable. Morgana fell to the floor, wailing, clutching her hair, clawing at her face and letting blood and tears flow down to her heart. There was no getting by them, for they were always with her, always by her, never leaving her, never giving her peace. They were seven devils, baring only the intension of staring into her soul, into her depths, into the very face of her darkness, and they were the crux of her weakness. They stared, and she sobbed, anger and remorse and pain tearing her apart.

"You realize," her voice broke, "You realize that this changes nothing! NO! I will have my birthright! You are only a vision, a weakness, a part of the past! You cannot stand between me and the throne!"

The knight stared.

"Who are you to judge my ambition?!"

Morgause stared.

"Where were you when I was lonely?!"

Gwen stared.

"When you betrayed me for Arthur?!""

Mordred stared.

"I did what magic needed! What I needed!"

Arthur stared.

"You know NOTHING!"

Uther stared.

She rose to her full height, eyes flashing with self-righteous anger, all remorse gone from her eyes.

"I am the lady Morgana Pendragon, and Camelot is MINE!"

Merlin blinked.

Gold burned her vision, taking all in its wake.

The room shattered.

Red.

Morgana fell.

Please drop a review! It would mean the world to me ;D