Merlin stuff, because I haven't done stuff like this in a while. Make what you will of this crazy, weird mess of a story that was practically me whining about how it's 95 degrees outside. Enjoy!
Spring
It is spring, and Morgana hates it.
The beauty isn't what bothers her; what bothers her is the youth of spring. With its bright blades of grass, purple-and-red berries, spongy dirt beneath the heel of her boot, spring is the renaissance of a yearlong toil for color in the world.
Spring is painful, because it reminds Morgana of herself. She used to love spring. She used to play outside with Gwen and crouch behind the castle walls to spy the forests beyond Camelot's borders. Morgana always prided herself on having better eyesight and often teased Gwen about her own superior ability to pick out the little details of the fauna and flora and examine them with the heart of a true princess. Morgana used to be just like spring: without a care in the world. And like ivy, she starting to grow out of control. This is all nothing new, of course. Because she was a child, she wouldn't know anything about overheating. And when the sun began to crack down on her ivy, Morgana found herself kneeling before the corona. Even she had to yield in the face of heat.
Her heart beats, and she feels it bringing her down like a rock in her chest.
Come every year, spring always makes Morgana wonder what is worth such folly. Much like other fake princesses she's met – Elena, Vivian, Mithian – spring puts so much effort into an appearance.
It's no shock Morgana prefers the winters. There are no pesky mosquitoes and a more moody Arthur to tolerate. It's quite fun to poke at her brother, cause him to explode, much in the way an elephant reacts to a sting.
Winter allows Morgana to feel invincible, but not invulnerable. She feels the cold on her skin but will not succumb to it and instead, chooses to overcome it and rule like a queen. She will never thaw in the face of adversity. Winter gives Morgana her unattainable throne. It keeps her at bay. It satiates her wants. For now.
Winter can always make her ache for warmth, but Morgana does not want heat. Morgana does not want a long-term relation with anyone or anything, for that matter. Warmth is the satisfaction of not suffering cold. Heat is just too much to handle, clouding her gaze.
Heat clouds her gaze, wraps her in ecstasy, gives her an orgasm, and recedes. It will always return to shell out more favors, but nothing is ever as good as the first time, she tells Morgause.
Morgause smiles thinly and puts her tongue to more good use.
Thanks for reading!