~o~
As a child she was required to drag her body out from under the ashes of loss.
Morgan le Fay wound around herself, cocooned herself, in the notion of one day reigning over a kingdom that had designated a traitor as its king. She let a spool of her spirit and tenacity unfurl around her being. The finer threads were of her lineage, and they were unbreakable.
Isolated within the stone walls of Tintagel, Morgan grasped at any hand that presented itself, made some promise of release, whether its source be darkness or light. Neither ever bothered to adhere to her, nor her they. She dipped her fingers and toes into collected pools of both over the years, painting herself with them. Yet she remained unharmed.
She existed, impatient but reassured. She had faith enough in herself to know she would find a way to alter the future. She, unlike others, would do whatever was required of her.
Tasting of her brother's flesh there was in her heart no repentance nor regret; only happiness. Prior to the act she showed no hesitance, asked but one question and the answer suited her.
In the role of a mother, she was modeled after a faerie. The shadows of her eyes and heart were dusted with glitter. Her clothes and hair faintly bore similarities to the goddess whose magic helped create her son.
She waited for the throne sealed in the image of a queen.
She had faith she would one day become to others what she already knew she was inside.
~o~
In moments of loneliness or reflection, Nimue sometimes wished she would be sent visions such as those described in the Bible. Not for glory - but to keep as a secret all her own. The holy whispers of a saint. The reassurance that her actions were right and God's will. A hand to hold through the night. A peace to know through doubt and fear.
The saints might now deliver unto her messages from God, but she was as deaf to them as she was blind, led only by her faith.
Inside her heart there glowed a lantern of red embers. From this fiery pulse roots spread throughout her body, through the tunnels of her veins. Inside her, inside everyone, God resided within such temples. The temples of his creations.
Connected to her as he was to all His creations, God knew Nimue as no other. He understood the makings of her entire mind and being. Never would she allow her faith to waver. Never would she make him suffer such a betrayal.
She would bind herself to the Lord. Unite her body and soul to the immortality of marriage to God. Become a sister in the absence of all other family in her life.
Left alone, set in place in Avalon.
~o~
Alone at night, Merlin revisited the time he'd witnessed three faces beneath the water.
The edifice of the Old Ways had been so lifelike, it had required no effort to imagine himself reaching into the pool and helping the Fae woman step into the world. The Maiden who awoke in him a previously unknown desire, the Warrior who had fought many battles, the Mother whose heart sang with praise.
He pictured a mixture of three brought into the open, her dark hair braided with raven feathers; wildflowers, jeweled pins made in the shapes of stars. Her features wise, youthful, wet and glistening in the sun.
He thought of the curve of her skull; her cheekbones, her eyes. Seeing how beautiful they appeared to him carved in stone how might they be in flesh?
To see her walking among mortals.
To hear her voice.
To touch her skin.
It would be effortless, then, to believe in her.
~o~