The Merlin effect: prologue
The elders had found him out; he'd be punished. There was no running. No place he could hide that they could not find him. He knew he'd never see it coming.
The old man hobbled along the street. The fact that he'd even been alive this long scared him. Always looking over his shoulder for seventy years. Maybe it was the longevity potion he stolen, maybe Morgan had told her wicked tale to the elders. Whatever the cause was there was no use wording over it now. Best to live what time he had left and ignore the shadowy hand of death that had been following him for weeks on end, leaving him restless at night.
The old man had come to a run down old shack in the woods he called home for the past fifty years. Merlin. Took the rabbit downed proceeded to make himself a modest stew. with the remained of his supper left outside for the animals, he headed off to bed.
Visions of young, rosy cheeked, dark haired women chased Ambrose in his dreams. Her face was soft and round, that made her words as sharp as glass. "Merlin, you've wronged him. He's just to kind hearted to admit it." She whispered. Wrong wrong wrong. He'd only done what he'd been told to do. It wasn't his fault Arthur was dead. Not one bit.
The air inside his lunges turned soggy. His mind filled with fog. Long, pale hands grabbed at his torn robes. His beard tangled with faerie knots and wound around his throat. Merlin woke up with a start, the bed covers in a tangle around his scrawny ankles.
It was time to write his will.
To whom it may concern,
This is the will and bequethment of Merlin ambroseious emrys.
He leaves every item herein
Merlin gasped. A sharp pain seized his chest. Black filled the edges of his vision. The elderly man slumped over, spilling the ink and knocking over the candle.
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