Dear Readers,
This is a little oneshot based on some of my ideas for a series of Arthurian novels that I will eventually write, someday... It is basically about Morgan la Fey, and her sister, Morgause. A lot of it is my take on Arthurian legends, so a lot of it is out of canon and, well...just read. I can't really explain it more. I hope you like it. Oh, and please don't forget to review!
Best regards from a bookworm,
Miss Pookamonga ;-P
Morgan la Fey sat in the tall grass, absent-mindedly pulling small clovers out of the ground. Nearby, her three nephews chased each other boisterously, occasionally tackling each other and echoing loud shouts into the air. Normally, she would have joined in, but today she was in one of her brooding moods, and she couldn't bring herself to stop pondering over the thing that troubled her the most—her own family.
When she had been much younger, Morgan had dreamed of having an older sister—one who would teach her everything a young woman should know, one who would spend time with her, one who would confide in her, one who would sit outside on a sunny spring day and braid her hair or perhaps go wading in the creek with her. But as she grew older, she realized that her dream was never going to come true, for no matter how hard she had tried as a young child, her sister could not be changed into the type of sister Morgan wanted so badly.
Morgause was anything but the gracious, caring older sister Morgan had so longed for. She was stern, cold, and worst of all, manipulative. Morgan was her greatest enemy (aside from Merlin, who enraged her to no end). There was no doubt about the fact that Morgause hated her younger counterpart, and there was never any indication to Morgan now that that would ever change. Morgause had become so efficient at guarding the wall she had built between her and other people that it was nearly impossible for anyone to get past it, let alone tear it down altogether. She prided herself on being separate from everyone else, on standing on her own pedestal and looking down hatefully at the infidels below. It was that type of attitude that Morgan, with the childlike innocence she had once possessed, had tried to transform in her sister, but had failed to do so.
That innocence was long gone from Morgan's spirit, and it was barely a wisp of memory to her now. Morgause had ripped it all away from her and had nearly robbed Morgan of her own dignity, but Morgan had just been strong enough to keep a tight grasp on that. Morgause was ruthless; it didn't matter to her whether she was confronted with her sister, her husband, or even her own sons—she would do what she had to in order to get what she wanted. And what she wanted now more than ever was information on their half-brother, and the prophecies associated with him. Morgan, when she had first found this out (by spying on Morgause—which she often did), didn't quite understand why her older sister even needed this information; he was supposed to be dead, by Morgause's own doing. But Morgause's desperation had soon sparked hope in her—hope that maybe her half-brother, heir to the throne, was indeed still alive, and that there was hope for freedom from the wretched monster she called sister.
She had long told the boys the old prophecies about him, out of the feeble wish that he might be alive. But now she told them with more fervor out of the stronger hope that he really was alive and living somewhere out in the world under a false identity. Gawain, Gaheris, and Garet eagerly listened to her stories, enchanted by the mysteriousness of the legend. Although Gaheris and Garet didn't quite understand that the legend might indeed be true (for they were quite young), Gawain did, and his aunt's stories seemed to spark a flame of hope in his heart too. Both knew that Morgause was neither a good sister nor a good mother, and they had every intention of breaking free of her deathly grasp.
Morgan feared for her own life underneath the looming presence of Morgause, but she feared for the boys' lives more. Morgause was hardly around to look after her own children, as she would often "disappear" from their home from weeks on end and then return only to seclude herself in her secret chambers of the castle. When she was present with the boys, her attitude was merely a show of false affection for them, and she seemed disturbed by their innocence and their tendency to favor Morgan. That tendency, however, was only natural, for Morgan acted as their mother, aunt, and sister all at the same time. Their father was hardly around them either, although he stayed in the castle and never traveled, so Morgan was their main caretaker. Taking care of them had forced her to grow up much faster than she had wanted to, but she knew that if she wanted to protect them from their vain and dangerous mother, she had no other choice. Morgause was too powerful a sorceress for Morgan to fight alone, so she spent her time trying to sharpen the boys' minds against their mother's manipulative, enticing ways. Morgause believed that each of the children, including Morgan, had some sort of subconscious intuition that would give her the answer to her questions about her half-brother. So she stopped at nothing to try and probe their minds with her magic—especially Morgan's mind, for Morgan was her strongest opposition and she wanted to inflict pain on her whenever she had the chance.
Morgan suddenly snapped out of her thoughts when she felt something very hard whack her in the back. She spun around and was not surprised to see Gawain standing a few feet away from her with a huge smirk on his face. Right next to her lay a leather ball.
"Are you going to play or not?" yelled Gawain, although he didn't need to be so loud. He liked yelling because it annoyed Morgan, and he thought that it was quite humorous to make Morgan annoyed.
Morgan made a face. "I'm not in the mood. Leave me alone." She meant to sound less harsh than she did, but her present thoughts had left her sour and she was truly upset.
"Awww, come play with us, Auntie!" cried little Garet pleadingly. "Pwetty please?"
Morgan couldn't help but smile at Garet. Sometimes he was just too adorable. But she still didn't feel like romping around like a little child. "Maybe some other time, Garet. I'm not feeling quite up to it today."
Garet's face fell. "Okay," he said sadly. "Can you pass us the ball?"
Morgan immediately felt terrible at making Garet so sad; she had a soft spot for him because he was so young and so vulnerable to Morgause's wicked practices. She was the most protective of him and always felt bad whenever she refused him anything. He was the best-behaved of the boys and rarely ever whined; of all three of them, he was the most deserving of any reward. "I really don't feel like playing, Garet," she said with sympathy, "but perhaps I can tell you a story later, all right?" She felt her voice quiver a little; sometimes when she looked at Garet, she felt so sorry for him being stuck with the mother he had that she wanted to cry. But she never did in front of him—it would only scare him; Morgan was the strongest person he knew and she needed to act strong in front of him, even if she didn't feel like it.
"Can you tell a story now?" he cried excitedly, running over to where she was sitting and flopping himself down on the ground.
"Aww, Garet, we were winning!" whined Gaheris.
"It doesn't matter," Gawain said with an air of authority, glancing over at Garet's bright face. He caught Morgan's gaze and a wave of understanding passed between them. "You two were so far ahead of me that you would've won the game anyway."
Gaheris was clearly not pleased with halting the game, but he shrugged it off and followed Gawain to Morgan's spot in the grass. They both sat down and leaned in close, ready for her story.
"Which one do you want me to tell?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"The sword in the stone one!" shrieked Garet, clapping his hands enthusiastically.
"Not that one again," grumbled Gaheris. "We've heard that one a million times!"
"You've heard the story about King Uther and the dragon a million times, yet you never complain about hearing that one again," retorted Morgan, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Yeah…well…that's different," Gaheris continued uneasily, not really sure of how to respond.
Morgan chuckled. "Hmph. Well, I'm telling you the sword story, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Gaheris groaned exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes. But he cracked a grin and winked at Morgan afterwards. Morgan grinned back.
She took a deep breath and began. "Once upon a time, when the wizard Merlin was much younger, there lived a king named Uther Pendragon—"
"—who was king of all Britain," Garet finished proudly.
"That's right," Morgan said with a smile. "Now, sometime after he had been reigning, King Uther married a beautiful enchantress named Igraine."
"Grandmam!" cried Garet.
"Yes." Morgan winced in inward pain at the mention of her mother. Even though she had hardly known her mother, the pain of not having her alive was oftentimes too much for Morgan to bear. But sometimes telling the stories made her feel a little better, so she continued. "Now the king had not been married for long when Merlin called upon him to go on a quest of sorts in the forest. The king was reluctant to leave his wife, but Merlin assured him that she would be safe. So one day he and Merlin ventured deep into the forest on their quest. Now, Merlin hadn't told King Uther what the quest was, so the king was both very curious and very scared. He hoped the quest would be short, for despite Merlin's reassurance, he was still anxious to return to Igraine.
"Then, one day, Merlin and the king reached a very large lake—the 'enchanted lake', as some called it, for it was rumored that a very beautiful and very mysterious faerie lived within its waters. King Uther had been to this lake before and had met the faerie once. Her name was—"
"Nimue!" all three boys yelled in unison.
Morgan nodded. "King Uther wondered why Merlin had brought him to the lake, but he soon found out why. It was just past sunset, and the sky was turning a dark blue, when the waters began to stir." Here, Garet gasped, as he always did at this part. A smile of amusement flickered on Morgan's face. "King Uther became very nervous, but he followed Merlin anyway as the wizard headed toward the shore. Merlin began to walk right into the water in his robes, and reluctantly, the king followed, knowing somehow that he was supposed to. As they walked, the water became deeper and deeper and—"
"—deeper and deeper and deeper—" continued the boys, their voices growing progressively louder and more ominous.
"—until the water was so high that the king thought they were going to drown. Now, mind you, the water was stirring ever so more while they were walking through it. It sloshed around them and pushed against them, threatening to drag them underneath its dark waves."
Garet gasped again, this time louder, although he knew the story by heart.
"As they continued walking, suddenly, there was a great flash of light and a swirling pillar of water shot out of the lake up into the sky! Merlin and the king were both thrown backward into the water. The king sank below the surface, flailing and kicking until he rose again, sputtering and coughing. When he looked in front of him, though, the glowing pillar of water suddenly fell from the sky and disappeared into the lake with a loud—"
"SPLASH!" yelped Garet so loudly that his voice continued echoing throughout the meadow and the woods beyond it. After a moment of awkward silence (except for the echoing of Garet's "SPLASH!"), all four burst into laughter. It took quite a few minutes for them to calm down, and after Morgan had somewhat regained her composure, she continued telling the tale.
"Yes, y-yes," said Morgan, trying to suppress any leftover chuckles. "There was a—splash." Gaheris snorted and covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing again. Morgan took a deep breath and glared jokingly at Gaheris. "Anyway, when the pillar disappeared, in its place stood a very beautiful woman. She wore a white gown that radiated light into the water surrounding her, and her long hair was raven-black. She wore white water-lilies in her hair like a crown, and in her hand she held a long sword encased in an ocean-blue sheath. The king knew at once that this was Nimue, the Lady of the Lake. He suddenly realized that she seemed to be floating atop the water, and when he looked down at his feet, he realized that he was doing the same."
"And so was Merlin," said Garet quietly. This part always had him in awe.
"Yes. Nimue stepped toward the two and looked at Merlin. She welcomed him and then turned to the king. She told him in a soft voice that imitated the sound of waves upon the water, 'Dear King Uther, there is great trouble in your land of men and in our land of Faerie. A terrible, dark future awaits you and your family if you do not defend yourself and your wife. It was I who called upon Merlin to bring you here, for I have a gift for you—a gift that shall prove very useful should you use it correctly.' Here, she handed him the sword, which had a silver dragon winding around the length of its blue sheath. The pommel was a branch with a leafy vine encircling it, and the hilt itself was shaped like an eagle's head.
"The king took the sword reluctantly and pulled it out of its sheath. Upon its shiny silver blade were inscribed many words in a language he did not know. 'Thank you,' he whispered quietly to Nimue. She smiled at him, but very sadly, as he slipped the sword into its sheath.
" 'This sword is Excalibur, the greatest of all weapons,' said Nimue in a serious voice. 'It possesses a power unlike that of any other instrument. Only you alone can wield it as long as you are alive, unless your spirit willingly allows another to do so much as touch it. Otherwise, it shall reject any other bearer. Once you die, only those of your bloodline shall be able to wield it, unless they too, allow others to do so. No one can ever steal this weapon from you, nor can anyone kill or injure you or those dear to you with it, unless someone should find a way through Dark Magic. I cannot tell you now everything about this sword, for its magic is unfathomable. I advise you—use it only when needed. For if it wrongly kills or injures another—that is the only time when it will reject you. You will need this, King Uther, in the near future, and so will your future generations. It is a precious gift, a valuable tool that must not be wasted. Do you understand?'
"The king nodded gravely. Nimue then turned to Merlin. 'Watch over him and advise him well, as you have thus far,' she said. 'You must guard him and his wife well. If anything should happen to them, guard the children they will bear with your very life.' Then, she looked at both of them. 'Peace to you—and may the Almighty watch over you.' And with that, she disappeared in a whiff of mist.
"In the weeks following the encounter, King Uther kept the sword always by his side, and often thought long and hard about the words Nimue had spoken to him. Peace reigned in the land and over Uther and Igraine, until the fateful day when Uther was out on his afternoon horseback ride with Merlin. They were talking about Igraine and when she might possibly have a child, when Merlin's senses detected danger. He and the king immediately turned round and headed back to Camelot, but as they were doing so, a cloud of thick mist began to seep out of the ground and surrounded them. The mist became so thick that the king and Merlin could no longer see each other. The king grew terrified and called out Merlin's name, but he received no reply. He did not know what to do. He was lost, and he was sure that the mist around him signified the presence of some Dark Magic. Suddenly, out of the mist appeared a beautiful young girl, barely a woman, who was clad in black and had long blonde hair."
Morgan stopped and stared at the grass. She hated this part. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the annoying lump in her throat, but it wouldn't go away.
"Morgan," whispered Gawain gently. Morgan looked up and met his gaze. For once, she didn't scold him and tell him to call her "Aunt Morgan". She only stared at him almost pleadingly, searching for some sort of strength.
"Go on," said Gawain. He knew as well as she did who the beautiful blonde woman was.
Morgan took a deep, although shaky breath and continued, trying to sound as if nothing was bothering her. "The—the woman snickered at the king. He gasped in surprise and horror and whispered one word, 'You.' The woman laughed and pulled a sword out from a sheath hanging at her waist. She then swung it at the king and knocked him off his horse. The horse galloped away, whinnying in fright. The woman walked up to the king, who was lying on the ground in fear and pain.
" 'I hate you,' she said menacingly, staring down at him. He could only look at her with wide, frightened eyes. She snickered again and with that, she—she—lifted—the sword and—" Morgan stopped again. Her voice was choking up. She took a raspy breath and said, "Well, you know. After she had done her deed, she wiped her sword on the ground and sheathed it. She knelt by the king, who was still alive and struggling to breathe. She reached out to Excalibur, ready to take it (for she did not know of how she could not wield it). But as her fingers neared it, a flash of light zipped from the sword and stung the woman's hand. She fell backward, cursing. She tried to touch it again, but the sword zapped her even harder. She let out a scream of rage and disappeared into the mist, leaving the king alone.
"Upon her departure, the mist suddenly parted, and Merlin came galloping up to the king. He was sobbing, for he had been trying to dispel the mist but somehow failed. And now he had failed his responsibility to protect the king. He dismounted and knelt by King Uther, and attempted to nurse his wound, but the king stopped him. 'It is too late for me,' he said. 'Watch over Igraine. And take this sword.' He put his hand on Excalibur. 'Take it, and make sure that no one can ever use it for evil purposes. Merlin—tell Igraine I love her—' And so passed King Uther of Britain.
"Merlin, angrily, unbuckled Excalibur and its sword belt from the king's waist. He fastened it around his own, then hoisted the dead king up onto his horse. He swung up onto the horse, and was about to gallop back towards Camelot when he spied a large stone atop a hill just near to him. He galloped up the hill into a clearing where the stone stood. And there, he drew Excalibur from its sheath and plunged it furiously into the rock (for the sword was so powerful, it could cut through even stone). 'No one shall draw this sword from this stone,' cried Merlin in tears, 'Unless the queen shall bear an heir! And whosoever draws this sword from this stone should be and will be only the one true heir to the throne of Britain!' And with that, Merlin rode away.
"The stone remained undiscovered for years, until recently, and now, men from all across the land flock to it to see if they just might have a chance at pulling it out. But none do. For none of them is the true heir, and only when he comes shall Excalibur be released from the stone."
There was an eerie silence as Morgan finished the story. She had never felt so emotional telling it until now. She thought maybe that it was because she had been thinking about Morgause just before she had begun telling it—but she felt that there was something else about it as well. Something that she did not understand. Her thoughts were broken, however, by the sound of her nephews' enthusiastic applause.
"That was the best job you've ever done telling it," praised Gaheris with a smile.
"Yup. I was actually scared at the scary parts again, even though I knew what happened," said Garet, hugging his aunt affectionately.
Gawain, however, didn't say anything after he stopped clapping. He was looking over his shoulder at the edge of the woods with a worried expression on his face. Morgan and the two other boys turned to see what he was looking at. When Morgan saw what she did, a mixture of fear and anger arose in her heart. At the edge of the woods stood a tall, blonde woman aside a black horse. Morgause.
"Mama!" cried Garet, jumping up and running towards her. Morgan flinched at the way Garet joyfully called his mother. He still adored Morgause. If only he knew how his mother tried to hurt him and her and his brothers…Morgan shivered thinking about her sister's horrible rituals.
Morgause led the horse toward Garet and met him halfway between where Morgan was sitting and where the edge of the woods was. She let go of the reigns and scooped him up in her arms, then walked with him and the horse to where Morgan and the other two boys were sitting.
"Hello, Morgause," Morgan said flatly, staring intently at her older sister's icy blue eyes.
"Hello, Morgan," Morgause answered lightly, with a hint of menace in her voice. A grin appeared on her lips, but it was one of mischief, almost. Morgan shivered and tore her eyes away from her sister's cold stare. One look from Morgause could freeze an entire ocean.
"Don't I get a warm hug from my other two sons?" she asked sweetly, pretending to sound a little hurt. Morgan still saw a hint of that accursed smile on her face.
Gaheris stood up and hugged his mother, and Gawain did as well, but with less enthusiasm. "Sorry, mother," they mumbled.
Morgause laughed. "Nothing to worry about, my boys," she said in that angelic voice that masked her true self. She set Garet down and ruffled his and Gaheris' hair. "You run along and play now. I must speak with your aunt." She directed her gaze at Morgan, and stared daggers at her sister, although her fake smile remained plastered on her pale face. Morgan stood up reluctantly. Morgause put her arm around Morgan's shoulders. "Come now, Morgan. I will see you at supper," she called to the boys, then began leading Morgan and the horse away towards the castle.
The two said nothing to each other as they walked, nor as Morgause unsaddled her horse and secured it in the stable. It was only when they had exited the stable that Morgause said anything. And when she spoke, all that fake motherly sweetness was gone and what remained was the beastly witch Morgan so feared.
"You little brat!" she hissed, grabbing Morgan's wrist and dragging her through the courtyard into the castle. "I've had it with you and your wretched stories!" She marched through the corridors, dragging Morgan, who winced in pain as her sister gripped her wrist even tighter. Morgan knew where they were going. To Morgause's secret chambers beneath the castle. That was where Morgause practiced her Dark Magic, away from anyone else, it was where she liked locking Morgan in whenever she felt like doing so, it was where she tried probing the minds of her sister and her own sons. Morgan hated that place; a cloud of darkness and evil always hung around it, enshrouding it in unspeakable terror.
Morgause dragged Morgan until they reached a spot on the wall of a very dark and narrow corridor. It smelled of wet mold and dust, and the decaying elements made Morgan cough loudly. Morgause squeezed Morgan's wrist tighter in response, causing Morgan to gasp in more pain. "You'll learn to keep your bloody mouth shut when I'm finished with you," growled Morgause darkly, searching the wall with her free hand. Morgan just kept quiet and tried to restrain herself from coughing.
Morgause stopped moving her hand and closed her eyes. She muttered something under her breath, and a flash of green light emanated from between the stone bricks in the wall, pushing aside the bricks and forming a doorway. Morgause stepped through the doorway and dragged Morgan with her, before the stones shut on them, locking them in a dark room.
"Illuminae," said Morgause tightly, and the torches in the room immediately lit on fire, casting light into the chamber.
The first room of the secret chambers was only an empty one with a black carpet crossing the middle of the floor and ending at the next doorway across the room. Morgause marched across the carpet and into the second chamber, which was round and bare, save for a stone well sitting in the middle of it. Morgause dragged Morgan around the well, through the next doorway, and into the third chamber, which was the largest of all the rooms. All four walls were covered by bookshelves filled with spellbooks that held the secrets of the dangerous arts of Dark Magic. Tapestries depicting eerie and gory stories hung above them. Above the next doorway leading to the fourth chamber was a human skull, which glowed white against the dark gray stone of the wall. Books lay scattered across the carpeted floor, as well as chairs, cauldrons, jars of animal parts and herbs, vials of poisons (and even, to Morgan's disgust, blood), spoons, hexes, knives, and a large assortment of other magical instruments. In one far corner sat a gold astrolabe, and in the middle of the room was a long rectangular table, which was just as cluttered as the rest of the room. There was no fireplace, so it was deathly cold.
Morgause pulled her sister over to a chair, threw the book that had been sitting on it across the room, and slammed Morgan down onto it. Still gripping Morgan's wrist, she leaned toward the young girl until she was inches away from her face.
"Why must you constantly be at odds with me?" Morgause hissed. "You know you'll only get hurt."
"You will hurt me regardless of how I act or what I say," spat Morgan defiantly.
Morgause took her other hand and clenched it around Morgan's shoulder. "You would be in much better position, my dear sister, if you would just be a good, obedient little girl," she growled.
"You're not Mum. Nor are you a good sister," replied Morgan, jutting her chin out. "Therefore," she continued, her voice gradually rising, "I am disinclined to listen to anything you say!"
"Ohh, you will listen. After today, after I'm through with you," Morgause answered in an ominous voice. She let go of Morgan roughly and strode over to the table.
"Why don't you just kill me?" yelled Morgan angrily. "You hate me anyways."
Morgause whirled around, a sly smile creeping upon her lips. "Because, dear Morgan, I need you. My plans cannot be fulfilled without you."
Morgan winced inwardly, thinking of her sister's painful mind-probing. In truth, she was scared for her life, more afraid than she had ever been before, but she managed to hide her fear beneath her anger and sarcasm, as she so often did.
"Oh, I'm so honored," she retorted mordantly.
"You will be, if you just cooperate," Morgause continued smoothly, her voice regaining some of its cool, angelic tone. She turned back around and began sorting through the mess on the table. "You will have more reward than you could ever ask for if you just work with me. Think of it, Morgan. Us sisters, working together, sharing our lives, just as you've always wanted."
Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the mesmerizing voice attempting to hypnotize her. Her sister could change moods and methods in a split second in order to better gain what she wanted. Morgause had tried this so many times before, and had so far failed. Morgan was not about to let her win now.
Morgause continued speaking in the same tone. "I know you think I'm manipulative," she said. "I know you think that I'm a terrible person, a terrible mother, a terrible sister, and a terrible wife." She paused. "But trust me, Morgan, there's more to me than you realize, more to you than you realize. Trust me. If you do, you might just be able to bring out the best of me. We could be at peace. Isn't that what you want?"
Yes, Morgan's mind subconsciously answered. I want that. I've always wanted it. It's my greatest dream—"NO!" she suddenly shouted, snapping out of the mental trance.
Morgause whirled around, her pale face a picture of utmost fury. "You dare refuse me? Again?!" she yelled.
Morgan bored her gaze into Morgause's icy eyes. "I will not yet you manipulate my mind. I will not let you probe it. I won't let you hand my soul to the Devil!"
"You will find yourself handing it to him on your own!" Morgause snarled. "You try to protect yourself, Morgan, but your strength can't hold much longer. Oh no. You will give in, because you are WEAK! A WEAKLING! And you will find that it is much easier to give in than to fight what you cannot win against!"
There was a short silence that passed between them, broken only by the sound of the sisters' breathing. Finally, Morgan spoke.
"A weakling…" she whispered, still staring directly at her sister's eyes. "Like you."
Morgause stood still for a moment, fuming. Then, all Hell broke loose.
"YOU WANT ME TO KILL YOU?! WELL, YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE DEAD AFTER THIS!" she shrieked. She grabbed Morgan by the arm, twisted it behind the girl's back and swiftly began marching toward the fourth and final dark chamber.
"No," mumbled Morgan in utter dread. "No. NO!" she screamed, and began flailing and kicking her legs about, trying to escape. "Don't do it, no, no, PLEASE!"
"You beg, now, don't you?" hissed Morgause. "Well, I gave you a chance, and you wasted it. I was ready to let you go."
Morgan only screamed and writhed more, crying out in sheer terror, trying to escape the horrible fate that awaited her. "Please, God, don't let her do this again, please! Please, God, please! Please, please, PLEASE!" she heaved, anxiety mounting. "No, no, no, no, no…"
Morgause pushed Morgan through to the last chamber. It was almost pitch-black, save for the ghostly green light of the torches that glowed from the wall of the circular room. In the wall were large niches, each filled with a grotesque-looking statue. In the middle of the room was a stone platform, much like an altar.
Morgause dragged Morgan to the platform and lifted her up in her arms. Morgan tried desperately to wiggle free of her sister's grasp, but to no avail. She felt her body hit the cold stone with a thud as Morgause dropped her onto the platform. Morgan attempted to stand up and run away, but not before Morgause stopped her.
"Presthys," she hissed, holding her hand out over Morgan's body.
Suddenly, Morgan felt a powerful invisible force pushing down upon her like a heavyweight, restricting her movement. The more it pushed, the more she struggled, but it became harder and harder for her to breathe. She gasped in pain and desperation. The force continued pushing, on her body, on her chest, her lungs, squeezing the life out of her, crushing her under its unbearable weight…
Suddenly, the force lifted a little, allowing Morgan to gulp breaths of air. But it still pushed down hard enough so as to stop her from getting up and escaping.
"Please—let—me—go," Morgan gasped, tears forming in her eyes.
Morgause only snickered. "You always say that. But I never do let you go, now, do I?" She walked around the platform to where Morgan's head was, and grabbed it in her icy hands, her nails digging into Morgan's flesh.
"NO!" screamed Morgan. "NO! STOP!"
"Memoriam sciere!" shrieked Morgause at the top of her lungs.
A searing shock of pain shot through Morgan's body. She screamed in agony and tried to move, but in horror, found herself paralyzed. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped for air, trying not to focus on the pain, but it only grew stronger. She could feel what seemed like daggers stabbing her head, one after another unceasingly. Colors swirled and flickered before her beneath her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes harder, trying to dispel the flashing colors, trying to find the peace of blackness. But the colors swirled more and more, forming themselves into images from her subconscious. Memories flashed before her eyes—images from her stories, Garet and Gawain and Gaheris, water lilies. Riding a horse for the first time. Eating strawberries. Morgause slapping her. Morgause transforming her into a serpent. A nightmare of a fire-breathing dragon. Rabbits, little white rabbits, her chasing them. There were images of things she had never known were in her mind before. She didn't know what some of them were. And then, out of the memories, the images, she felt a presence, a foreign presence. Invading her sanctuary. Morgause. Her sister's consciousness attacked her like an army besieges the fortifications of its enemy. It battered her mind, beat at her memories, her soul. It filled her with a burning sensation of fire, slashed out at her with swords.
The memories swirled, becoming muddled and confusing. Morgan fought back incessantly, trying to push her sister's presence out of her mind, away from her consciousness, away from her soul. More searing shocks of pain shot through her head, her body. She continued pushing. She felt like she was being stoned. Stabbed. Beaten, whipped. The pain intensified, making her feel as if her head would explode. She screamed and gasped more. She tried to wriggle away. She tried to pray. She tried to think of the boys. The pain consumed her, engulfed her. It choked her efforts to stop it from growing. Squeezing, choking, clutching, grabbing at her life and ripping it away. Plunging her into fire, drowning her in cold, cold water. She thought she was going to die. She would rather die than this. It needed to stop, to end, she needed to breathe. She needed to open her eyes, see the light, escape, escape…she was falling. Falling through her mind, falling through memories, falling to her death, falling farther and farther and faster and faster. Everything flew past her; she couldn't see, she couldn't stop herself, she kept falling, flying downward, until suddenly…
…she felt a sharp thud, and total darkness consumed her.