(the darkness fades in—he walks alone)

He wandered, barely aware of everything around him, lost in the cruel prison his thoughts caged him in. There was no escape.

(find the key; but there's no key. . .)

Merlin had, on occasion, pondered on how the world would turn out. Faced with the reality of his immortality, the subject had been inevitable. However, he never actually thought he would last this long. Even with thousands—three thousand—years on his head, he still held the belief that somehow, he would not live long enough to witness the earth's dying days.

Merlin snorted. Of course, he thought. What was he thinking? He should've learned his lesson years ago. Reality was a cruel thing, and it didn't matter if you were the most powerful warlock in history, or that you were slowly going out of your mind from years of misery. It will utterly destroy you. Everything great was just a temporary illusion real life created. Happy endings were just lies. Nothing and no one was spared from it. This was fact.

Everything was a hopeless cause, and people who thought otherwise were the biggest liars to have ever existed. Merlin should know. He was one of said liars up until a few centuries ago.

He had been waiting for someone. Someone who would save him from this mindless existence, silence the ghosts that hovered in his mind. . . Someone who would bring back hope and brightness to a darkness he had so desperately tried to fend himself from, but was slowly failing in.

Arthur. . .

But no one came. The darkness grew, day by day, threatening to overwhelm the already precarious hold on his sanity. Camelot seemed like a distant dream now, muddled by the waking hours of the nightmare he was currently in. Sometimes he wondered if perhaps it was only a dream and was only now realizing it.

Gaius with his vast knowledge of everything.

Gwen with her sweet disposition and understanding.

His mother with her quiet strength.

The Knights and their unwavering loyalty.

Camelot. . . Albion. . .

Arthur. . .

No. It wasn't a dream. It had been real. Once, it had all been real. He had known what happiness felt like. He had friends, a home, a purpose to his existence, a reason to wake up with a smile in the morning. But now he didn't. There was nothing now. Nothing to hold him up, nothing to make him hope. His heart was ancient and empty. It had been too long.

(too long without hope—how could you live at all? you're a monster, an alien, an outcast—alone)

He trudged through mud and scum, broken metal and crumbled cement—the remnants of a vast civilization that killed itself. The sun was hot on his back, hotter than he remembered it being when there were vibrant trees around him to shade from the harsh heat. Even the air felt different—suffocating.

(we are alone)

The warlock had been a bit dismayed to find that the wonders of magic had faded in the background over the centuries, but he had convinced himself that it was probably for the best (because you didn't care anymore; not anymore did you care youdidn'tcarecareCARECARECARE—). The Golden Age of Camelot, where magic was accepted, was a magnificent time, but it didn't last. Of course it didn't last. It was too perfect. . . too happy a time to last.

When Gwen died, Albion didn't stand a chance. It gradually crumbled under selfishness and greed. Too many kings and queens wanted to claim the ultimate throne, but none of them were capable to weild such power wisely—none of them were Gwen (or Arthur). Leon became the next in line, by Gwen's will, and fended off a couple of wars, but he was old then, and Merlin. . . Merlin hadn't known what to do (because you didn't care anymore; not anymore did you care youdidn'tcarecareCARECARECARE—).

And so, Albion crumbled. People forgot. Overall peace became a comforting myth, and wars broke out. The world had changed. It had grown to something almost wonderful, even without magic, but people, as always, were too greedy, too damn young to understand the concept of consequences (look who's calling the kettle black; or the pot purple; or the black pot a kettle—what?). But Merlin should've seen this one coming. Nothing good ever lasted forever. He was simply deluding himself—

"Watch it," a harsh voice called out.

Merlin grunted, feeling a dull pain bloom in his chest, the part the woman's thin, almost sharp, shoulder hit. He murmured an apology, so lost in his thoughts he didn't once question the presence of another person, instead continuing his long, somehow arduous, trek of a ruined, nameless city.

"Hey!"

(hello, hello—)

Merlin's steps faltered.

He turned slowly, afraid of what he might see. Or, perhaps, of what he might not see. Because if he turned around and realized that what he thought he saw, heard, felt, was nothing but an hallucination, he didn't know if he could take it. Another heavy disappointment to tip the scales, and he just knew he would finally fall off the edge. And yet, for some reason, he knew he had to know.

(this pain is deserved, you know it is)

The girl's frame was thin and frail, her face gaunt and framed by black hair. But she carried her shoulders straight and regal in a way that was so goddamn familiar. Her piercing pale-green eyes looked at him with wariness, as her mouth opened. "Are you real?" she asked.

Merlin stared, unable to comprehend, not wanting to believe.

"I don't know," he whispered.

The girl's expression brightened, and then she grinned. "You're weird." She held a hand out. "My name is Morgana. You are?"

(reality, reality. . .)

Found this on my laptop. I've forgotten I even wrote this! This was 2 years ago. Which means it's been 2 years since I last watched the finale, and I'm still not over it. Mind you, I've only watched it once (I refused to watch it again), but the fact that I'm still affected shows how much it frakkin sucked.

Also, I think I thought of writing like this when I read a fanfic (though I think it was from another fandom, I can't remember), so if you guys know a fanfic with a format like this, let me know :3

Anyways! Thank you for reading! ^-^