"Merlin!"
Strong was the wind that shook the forest, but stronger were the tremors that shook Merlin as he stood on the brink of light or darkness; day or night; life or death.
And he can't tell them apart.
"Do it now!"
The wind chilled him, biting at his every soul. Impatient tears flooded his crystal heart, breaking down every single barrier that he had ever constructed and tearing apart any belief that he had ever held. But then again, he thought, torn, he had so much to cry for. He cried for Gwen, whose pain at being left alone once again was too great for her, with all her pride and uncommon dignity, to say; he cried for Arthur, whose pride demanded that his tears never fall; he cried for himself, whose fate had been twisted, contorted and commandeered since the day he was born.
Lastly, he cried for her.
He stared into her eyes – her cold, fire-filled eyes, and he wondered.
Is she a devil or an angel?