Wallflowers
Each day that passed she grew more and more alone. She knew that she was to blame for the loneliness, but how could she stay close to anyone? Her love and her friendship could mean their doom, and there was no one she could confide in – no one that cared enough to believe her.
Merlin was the worst part of it.
He had cared for her, they had been friends. He had asked for her help before, and they had worked as a team regardless of their different stations. He didn't treat her as an icy princess or a weak willed damsel, but as a person. He had seen her – even her darkness – and he had known her secrets. Merlin had stood by her and helped her finding out the truth about herself. Morgana had hoped – maybe a foolish hope – that he wouldn't be scared and walk away from her because of who she was.
She had been wrong – he didn't see her, not anymore. He was careful to be never near, as if she burned, but never gave her anything but kindness when he needed to deal with her. She was a ghost, and there was nothing for her to touch – she walked through parts of her past life but nothing could hold her and cherish her as she needed to be cherished.
There were no arms around her – until they held her in death, her body trembling and struggling to breathe as her throat closed up, shushing sounds in her ear, as an eternal lullaby, and Merlin's blue eyes filled with tears that burned more than the flames that consumed her kin in the atrium of the castle.
And, slowly, she faded away to the darkness that had been haunting her.