"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
The hovel was dark, the only source of light came from the dwindling fire mother had made just before retiring. I watched as the small flames flicked in the air and danced together my mind elsewhere. I was used to life here, it wasn't much but at least I had something. My bed, a layer of blankets on the hard surface of the hovel's floor, my mother took the actual bed. I didn't mind though, she was older now, frailer than before. She tired quickly and sometimes doing simple things would make her head spin, so I do as much as I can for her. People told me stories of my mother, some cruel, some kind, but all followed the same pattern, apart from this one an old man had told me. He had the kindest eyes, deep sapphire blue that felt as though they bored into my soul. Hair brittle but long and held the colour of silver. Somehow I felt as though I was connected to this man so I listened to every single word that left his thinned mouth.
I had met him whilst collecting herbs in the darkling forest. The forest did not scare me, my mother had taught me how to fight and use my wit. He was sitting on a log, alone. Hunched over his silver hair his face and drew the tattered red cloak around his frail body.
"Sir are you well?" I asked tenderly. My mother had always told me to address elders politely saying "One must always treat others with respect for we get none in return."
The old man looked up at me. His eyes glistened against the soft rays of the morning's sun. "Yes child I am well." He rose and walked slowly towards me and eyeing me quizzically as if I were a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Forgive me, it is just you remind me of someone."
His hand reached for my face but I drew back unsure of his motives. I saw hurt tint his eyes and immediately felt guilty. Maybe his late wife? "Who do I remind you of?" I quizzed.
The man took a few moments before answering. He led me over to the log he had been resting on and we sat. "Someone who I once cared deeply for." Was his response.
Yes his wife I thought to myself. "No she wasn't my wife." He exclaimed quickly as if he had read my mind. "I wanted her to be, but alas child it could not happen."
I found myself intrigued by him and suddenly wanted to know all about this woman. Who she was. Why he loved her. Why they could never be. "Tell me about her."
"She was the most beautiful that there ever was. People used to say she was a tease, a siren that led men to their dooms." He chuckled slightly "well child she led me to mine, but she was no siren. Yes she was a goddess sent from the heavens. I remember her thick raven hair against her glowing ivory skin, much like your own."
I smiled and twisted a piece of my hair in my fingers. My mother had said "Your hair is like the darkest of nights, your skin the coolest of winter, your smile melts hearts like the first rays of spring. But your eyes, they keep the secrets you hold most dear."
"And her lips. Full, blood red lips that tasted of sweet sin. Eyes like emeralds and smile that grazed so few. She was by no means a cold hearted woman, no child, she was not. Her heat held so much kindness, love, compassion for everyone no matter their class or place in society. Often she would challenge people but mainly the old King. She was feisty and did what she felt was right and dammed the consequences. I loved her so very much."
A single tear fell from the corner of the man's eye and I brushed it away with my hand. He loved and she is gone, how lonely he must be. "What was her name?" I asked softly.
He smiled then,"No child I think you will find the question is, what is her name?" I looked at him puzzled.
"Morgana Pendragon."
