Darkness. Thick, dense, impenetrable.

Consciousness surfaced slowly, as though wading through a viscous dream, but Morgana could feel that something was wrong with her body. Everything was wrong.

Her body. It existed, but it was different. She sensed it in another way—weaker, more helpless. Every movement came with difficulty, as though her muscles no longer obeyed her. Morgana tried to move her fingers, but they only twitched slightly. A trembling hand—tiny, soft, as if it didn't belong to her. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were so heavy that she barely managed to lift them for a second. The world behind them was blurry, bathed in dim light and filled with indistinct silhouettes.

Noise. Louder than she was used to. Sharper. Voices sounded muffled, unintelligible, as though heard through a wall. Someone was speaking with a warm, cheerful voice. A touch—gentle, affectionate. She was being held.

Her heart pounded faster. Panic rose in her chest. What was happening? Why did everything around her seem so huge? Why couldn't she speak, why was she being carried, rocked—why were the sounds so frighteningly loud?

And then came the realisation—cold and deafening.

She had been born again.

But who was she now? And where?

Morgana awoke slowly, as if making her way through thick fog. She had no idea how long she'd been here, in this warm cocoon of soft fabric and muffled sounds. Time had stretched, turning into a strange, faceless eternity. At first, she couldn't see anything—only feel: warmth nearby, movement, the hum of voices that sounded like the distant roar of the sea. But now… now something had changed.

She opened her eyes.

The world around her was still blurry, but no longer just a haze of shadow and light. The outlines had become clearer; there were forms now, distinguishable, even if still vague. The cradle she lay in rocked gently, creating a sense of soothing drowsiness. Nearby, something strange shimmered—dim patches that alternated with sudden flashes of light. Her tiny fingers clenched into a fist. The light was unlike anything she remembered. It didn't come from a candle or a fireplace, didn't flicker in the darkness or fade into ash. This light was… cold.

Morgana frowned—or at least tried to. Her memories were still vivid with images of another time: stone walls and heavy wooden doors, the scent of fire and wax. But now… everything was foreign.

She turned her head. The walls were smooth, strangely even, painted a soft pink, with none of the rough stone she was used to. Shelves. Objects. But not chests or iron candelabras—these were something else entirely. Boxes, books, unknown items she had never seen before. And that light… it poured from the ceiling, but not from candles.

Where was she?

Panic surged. This wasn't just another room. It was another world.

It seemed like months had passed since her birth—but how many exactly? A week? Two? More? Time, in the body of an infant, flowed differently—oddly, sluggishly. She couldn't speak or move as she once had, but her mind remained unchanged.

Footsteps came from behind the door. Someone entered.

Morgana froze, her tiny heart beating faster. The footsteps stopped nearby, and soon a tall figure leaned over her. A woman looked at her carefully; there was no fear or malice in her eyes, only warmth and tenderness. She smiled, stroked her small cheek with her palm, and then gently picked her up, pressing her to her chest.

Life in this new body flowed strangely and unfamiliar. Time blurred; days melted into nights, but Morgana couldn't say how long she'd been there. It felt like many weeks—or perhaps months—had passed before the world gained clarity again. She was learning to see anew—watching soft shapes, light patches on the walls, moving shadows.

But more than anything, she remembered her—the woman with warm hands and a gentle voice.

She appeared again and again, leaning over the cradle, touching her cheek, holding her close. Her voice was the first sound Morgana began to recognise in this world. Gentle, low, full of soft melody. She spoke often, saying strange words that gradually became familiar.

And then one day, as Morgana lay awake staring at the ceiling with its steady, cold light, the woman approached her and, smiling, said:

"Natalie… my little Natalie…"

Her heart trembled, as though it clenched for a moment from a strange, almost painful realisation. She had never heard that name before—but now it belonged to her. It was a strange feeling—to be someone you didn't know, and yet feel that it was right.

The woman gently rocked her, stroking her hair, and Natalie didn't understand why this person was so kind to her. But there was no falsehood in that warmth; her touch brought peace. For the first time in a long while, she felt safe. And perhaps, for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to trust that feeling.

"My girl… you're awake, aren't you? You must be hungry… Let's see what we've got here…"

Her voice was like a quiet melody—something that made Natalie want to close her eyes and drift away.

Natalie didn't know why this woman was so kind to her. But she knew one thing: with her, she felt at peace.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, a strange, almost forgotten feeling awakened within her. Trust.

Natalie MacDonald lived the ordinary life of a little girl in the home of her parents—simple Muggles who had no idea who she had been in a past life or what truly lay hidden behind her childlike face.

Her mother, Emily, was a kind woman who worked as a librarian at the local school. She often read to Natalie before bed and patiently explained the meanings of new words. Her father, Peter, was an engineer and could talk for hours about wires, machines, and electricity—things Natalie still couldn't quite understand.

These strange things, unknown in her past world, now surrounded her everywhere. Lamps lit without fire. Water flowed from metal pipes. Houses were made of glass and steel. It was an entirely different world, and although she had begun to grow used to it, much still filled her with mistrust and confusion.

But one thing remained unchanged.

She was only two years old when magic revealed itself for the first time.

She was sitting on the floor in her room, staring at the bookshelf where her mother had placed her favourite book—an old collection of fairy tales. Natalie wanted it badly, but, being a small child, she simply couldn't reach it.

She stretched out her hand.

At that moment, she didn't realise what she was doing—but the feeling flared within her like a sudden spark. Magic, forgotten and dormant, burst forth.

The book trembled. Then—gently floated off the shelf, landing softly in her hands. Natalie froze. She stared at the book, her heart racing. She had done it.

It wasn't enough to alarm her parents. Perhaps they thought the book had just fallen. But for her… for her, it was proof.

Magic was still inside her. She was a witch.

From that moment on, she knew that spontaneous magical surges would happen more and more often. She tried to hold herself back in front of adults—which wasn't easy. She was a three-year-old constantly surrounded by grown-ups, whether at home or at nursery.

One day she almost dropped a cup—but it stopped in the air, never hitting the floor. It happened instinctively, as naturally as breathing. But in that moment, her mother turned around, and Natalie quickly lowered the cup to the ground, pretending to be frightened.

Her mother approached, picked her up, and held her close.

"It's all right, my little one. You just got scared," her voice was just as warm as always.

But Natalie feared the day her parents might realise she was not like them.

This world did not welcome magic. She had once lived among Muggles—in another life. She remembered their fear, their hatred. Back then, they had burned, drowned, killed those who were different. Now, once again, she found herself in a world where magic was something foreign.

By the age of seven, Natalie MacDonald had adjusted quite well to this world. She had learned to control her magical surges, to hide her oddness from her parents, and to behave like an ordinary child.

When she started primary school at the beginning of September, the contrast between her previous life and this new one became even more striking.

School in this world was strange.

There were no enchanted ceilings, no floating candles, no long oak tables filled with hundreds of students. Instead—long corridors with grey walls, narrow lockers stuffed with books and notebooks, bright plastic chairs.

The teachers didn't wear robes. They wore dull suits and spoke loudly, but without the authority her former mentors had possessed. They taught children how to count, how to write, how to read—but Natalie already knew it all.

She didn't like school. But she had to pretend to be normal. She even made a couple of friends.

Sitting next to her was Sophie Marsh—a skinny girl with long blond hair who loved to chatter. In front of her sat Lily Carter—a freckled girl who was always sketching something in the margins of her notebook.

They were sweet, kind girls. They talked about their dogs, their favourite toys, the films they'd seen on TV.

"Did you see the cartoon about the little mermaid yesterday?" Sophie would ask.

"Do you like chocolate? I've got some, want a bit?" Lily would offer.

Natalie smiled. She replied. She even laughed.

But she didn't feel that these friendly conversations meant much to her.

They were… shallow.

Sophie and Lily didn't know Natalie had lived in another time. They didn't know she'd brewed potions before they were even born.

School lunches were some of the most astonishing things.

In the ninth century, food had been simple: black bread, meat, fish, vegetables from the garden. Boiled eggs, thick stews, cheese. Everything smelled natural, fresh, and hearty.

But in the twentieth century… food was different.

At school, they handed out small cartons of milk with plastic straws you had to pierce—and the milk tasted… strange. The bread was soft, fluffy, nothing like the firm, dark loaves she had known.

The potatoes served in the canteen weren't just potatoes—they were fried, cut into thin strips, and sprinkled with salt.

"These are chips!" Sophie said cheerfully, stuffing an entire handful into her mouth.

Natalie looked at them with mild suspicion. Fried potatoes? Tasty, but far too greasy. She preferred simpler food—boiled potatoes, a slice of black bread spread with fragrant butter, and cheese. Ah—cheese. She adored it in any form.

Her mother, Emily, was delighted that her daughter preferred healthy food over the fast food so beloved by other schoolchildren, though she still tried to make Natalie's meals more varied and interesting.

Natalie's favourite became pies—stuffed with kidneys or eggs—which her mother baked in their electric oven, a marvel of modernity that, oddly enough, never burned anything.

And sweets… They were incredibly sugary. In the ninth century, treats had been rare—honey cakes, berries, if you were lucky. But here, everything was coated in sugar.

But what stunned her the most was chocolate.

The first time she tasted it, the sweetness was so overwhelming it almost numbed her tongue.

But then she tried dark chocolate—and after that, she could never give it up.

One day, during a history lesson, the teacher handed out textbooks and said:

"Today we'll be talking about King Arthur and his wizard, Merlin."

Natalie flinched. She knew that name. She remembered Merlin far too well.

But as the teacher began to speak, a strange mixture of dread and disbelief settled in her chest.

"King Arthur was a legendary ruler of Britain, and his mentor was the great wizard Merlin…"

"He created the Round Table, united the knights, and defended the kingdom from its enemies…"

"But there was another figure in the story—Morgana le Fay. A sorceress, wicked and treacherous, the sister of King Arthur…"

What?!

Natalie stared at the textbook, feeling her chest tighten.

Sister? Of Arthur? She had never been his sister. Her fingers clenched. The pages trembled as she read further.

"Morgana tried to destroy the kingdom but was defeated…"

"Morgana hated Arthur…"

Not true.

NOT TRUE.

She had never known any king.

She had lived in the Forbidden Forest.

She had fought Merlin.

She looked up at the teacher.

"Mr Harris," she asked slowly, "how do we know any of this is true?"

The teacher smiled.

"Oh, Natalie," he said, "it's a legend. So many years have passed, no one can say for certain what really happened."

So people had forgotten.

Or… perhaps it was another timeline.

She still had to figure that out.