Morgana's point of View.
I wake up the same way I have for four years. I wake up, eyes flickers and frightened for the world that my unconscious mind created each time I lay my head down. It's not always the same dreams mind you. They flickers from some twisted bitter memory, to some world so familiar yet so different. I wake up as my chest heavies as I claw in much needed breath as I try to move my mind from the horror of my nights to the not much better world of my reality. Iknow it sounds pathetic, I should be over this now, I'm sixteen, nearly eighteen years old and yet I still allow my nightmares to have such an effect on me. I hate it, I hate how it makes me feel. My eyes lower to the neon pixels of light that join up to form numbers. I still have four hours until I need to be up. I sigh as if I am losing all hope in myself, I had only fallen asleep three hours ago. My eyes feel heavy as I lay back down, but even with my eyes feeling like steel shutter's I know sleep won't come easy, it never does.
It never could.
I wake up once more breathless as I feel reality once more pull at me, affectingly pulling my breath away too. I feel a slippery wet tear roll down ivory cheeks as I bite down on my lip to stop a strangled cry from crawling it's way out of my mouth. This was always the worse kind of dream, not this world I don't remember, but a world I remember far too much. The memories play over mix between the ones I know are real and the ones that feel so, but could not possibly be so. They play over and over like some broke fracture film role that ceases to stop it replaying, it haunts me in sepia tones. A life I wish I did not ever lead and one I don't remember. I lie to myself and say I know when these dreams started, that they were triggered by some trauma and that that is all they are. But I know they are more than this, I have had them since I can really remember, but I only tell myself this in the darkest part of the night where I doubt even I am listening to myself. Other times I say it was four years ago, when I lost them I also lost part of my sanity. But the scary thought is that it was already gone. I banish this thought as I go to stand on unsteady feet.
I put my head phones in one bud at a time as I try to drown out the trembling husky voices that lie beyond the sanctity of my room. I add the last brush of blusher to my face as if a fine art painter adding the last stroke to there master piece. I shudder slightly as I catch the sight of the silver lines that line my arms like drawn up battle dividers in a war. I tug down the sleeve of my jumper, Arthur and Merlin already know, nobody else needs to. The marks on my arm recall the marks of events in my life, much like the words of a history text book, I remember each of them. The creators of which haunt my mind. Of course the people who caused them don't even know they exist, not that they'd care. I haven't seen any of them for about a year and yet they are still there in my head, living in there, a little holiday home in my head. They haunt occasionally with their presence. The more funny part of me thinks about charging them rent. I wrap a pale ivory hand around the dark soothing chocolate colour of my messenger and I pick up the bag with a grunt. With a brief look in the mirror I put my hand on the door willing myself to push it open. I can't hear them, just mummers of their strong words. I don't hear them, but I don't have to. I already know what their arguing about, me.
I don't need to hear anything more than their raised voices to know that fact. I'm one of the only thing's they do argue about, I'm the only thing Arthur would make such a case for. I can already hear their words in my head. How I am "Not ready to return to a school." Or how "She should be allowed to make her own choices." It is all I have heard over the summer. I would understand if it was the fact Uther wanted to protect me, if he was concerned for me. But that is not why he wishes to hide me. It's a far more superficial reason he wants me at home, a fact both me and Arthur are well aware of.
"Arthur, you ready?" I call out as I duck past the room they are having a shouting match in, as I make for the stairs hoping my foster brother is close behind. I don't want to hear their words, not today. Today I just want to forget and move on.
As I reach the door I feel a small tap on my back, I jump at the contact. But pull up a fake smile as I realize who it was. He mumbles a sorry, a word I am sick of hearing. All people ever say is sorry and they never mean it. They are never the ones who should be the one apologizing. I nod pulling the buds from my ears as I slam the door behind me.
"Arthur, come on. We're going to be late. You can deal with him later." I yell out hopelessly as Arthur pick a fight with John Le Banco. A guy in the year above. Nothing more than just a piece of art really, good looking, but there is little else there. The guy scratched Arthur's car as he got out his car and now Arthur was threatening to start some medieval style fight with the guy over honour, or something like that. Truly? I wasn't listening much.
I roll my eyes as I see Arthur deal out the first punch. This was not what I needed this morning. All I craved was normalcy and all I got was chaos. It's like when on Christmas eve you hope and pray for that doll and all you get is some lousy board game and a drunk guardian. Disappointment and annoyance claimed my thoughts as my phone buzzed in the pocket of my jacket. I pull it out and in sync a smile pulls painfully at my cheek's. Merlin, my little ray of sunshine. I quickly type back a reply saying I'll meet him before my first class. He quickly replies he's just leaving his. I jog up step unfamiliar steeps. It's odd how a place can be so different. (I remind myself I'm not in secondary anymore.) But the people never are. (Most of the people have also followed like ghost's here, but these a the friendly move your stuff kind of one's. Not the haunt your memories type.) I wave and smile at the few of them I can actually bare. None of them are really my friends, except Merlin and Arthur. (Although Arthur doesn't really count, he's my foster brother after all. Even with the year in age difference we're still close. Well, as close as brother and sister can be.)
My thoughts disappear as I catch a glance of big ears, black hair and sparkling sapphire eyes. Finally some normalcy.
There the first chapter in Morgana's point of view, I thought I'd introduce her a little. Drop a few little hint's about her past and relationships with the other's. Let me know if you'd like to read more in her point of view! And also just let me know if you even like this story!