Once there was a king, brave and valiant, firm and unyielding. Said to be a brilliant strategist and a hero beyond compare.
A king of knights, as it were, for that king led loyal and faithful knights into battle at the front of armies.
He had a daughter. In actuality, many daughters.
Each and every one of them from different women that he had bedded. Some of them were camp followers who trailed behind his armies. Others, serving women in his forts and castles, and still there were others who were the wives of other men. Uther Pendragon cared not, and claimed them all in the name of his kingship.
She was the eldest. And... she would never claim the throne. Her father had made that clear, that he would never have one of his daughters on the throne after him.
Which was why she was seated before the hearth yet again, gazing into the fire as she murmured an aria to focus her mind.
Merlin had once said that her ability to foretell the future was a useful one, but that it wasn't a True Magic as such were known. That what she saw were shadowy echoes from the Kaleidoscope, a well of worlds that were so close that perhaps, only one or two minor details were off.
She had seen, would see the birth of Her. The one that Uther would declare king despite what he had said of never allowing a girl to sit upon his throne.
Seen as the little girl was perversely raised as a boy. Observed as Merlin created a situation... watched as the little slip of a chit pulled the sword out of the stone, and be chosen as king of Albion because of a sword and a deception.
Unforgivable.
Had she not cared for Father's wishes? Studying magics beneath many a magus to better aid her future brother, the son of Uther Pendragon. He who would be the next king of Britain.
As she raged at the unfairness of it all, at the hypocrisy, she could feel the creamy white wool shawl that she held in her hands get twisted by her far too pale hands.
That was when a voice spoke up behind her. A voice far too cheerful and happy to be permitted to exist. A youthful voice much like that of a friendly boy.
"Hello, you seemed troubled."
It was also a voice she didn't recognize. That it had come from behind her, deep within the safety of Tintagel...
As these observations sped in her mind, Morganna stayed visibly still even as her hand ever so slowly moved towards where her dagger hung from her belt.
"Tis only natural for me to be troubled. The winter seems overtly long this year," The dark haired royal daughter of Uther spoke coyly, even as her heart pounded before she stood up with a swirl of her dress, dagger in hand to face the intruder.
Which... was a small, white cat thing. Crimson eyes brilliant as rubies, white fur the hue of immaculately pure snow, and a most fluffy tail that flicked behind it. And there were those extra pair of ears from its ears with floating gold rings. Extra ears that shifted to pink down their length, and possessed a trio of blood red gems on its pink tips of its secondary ears. Upon its back a ring of crimson.
A fairy.
One that was seated upon the window, as it looked upon her kindly with a smile.
"Would you like a wish to make it end? Or perhaps for some thing else?" It 'spoke' once more without opening its mouth.
"What? What do you mean a wish?"
Here, she was surprised. This was something she hadn't expected.
No mere fairy would just offer a wish.
Not like this.
"Indeed, that is exactly what I mean, Morganna Pendragon. I want you to make a contract with me and become a Puella Magi. In return, I shall make anything you wish come true."
The cheerful manner that it spoke of wishes being granted brought a pause to the daughter of Uther Pendragon.
"My wish?"
"It can be anything," It nodded at her question, ears twitching happily. "I can make any miracle you desire come true. And in return, you shall become a Puella Magi, a being of hope."
In the light of the setting sun, with a crackling fire behind her, Morganna dared to hope. "But... what is a Puella Magi?"
At her question, the cat-like fairy positively beamed with joy and leaped into the room from where he had sat; upon the ledge of the window with the light of the descending sun framing him.
Puella Magi Schuetze Aurulent
Part 2 : Anger is like fire, it keeps one warm.
She, naturally, did not make a wish. How could she?
To be a being of hope was certainly all nice and fine.
But to no longer be human.
To be beholden to slay such thing as Witches?
Such a thing was detestable. She was no hero.
No valiant warrior out to save Albion and all the known world from the destructive evils of mankind and the world.
It was true that she was angry.
But she was not foolish enough to trade everything all away for a momentary chance at revenge against her father and that thieving slattern.
No. She would find another path. Another way.
And yet... in another world, another time, things would happen differently.
Because, occasionally, wishes can influence other wishes that never were uttered, that were yet to be uttered.
And that ever distant utopia, that dream most unreachable, could end up in one's hands.
If one had the desire and will to pay the price for attaining it.