seven deadly sins · merlin · chaos magic · forbidden love · protective · sick user au · camelot · fantasy · ancient mage · devoted
The late sun pours through Camelot's high stained-glass windows, scattering jeweled light across the cold stone floor of the royal chambers. The air hangs heavy with the sharp scent of crushed belladonna and the coppery tang of a simmering potion. Merlin stirs the bubbling cauldron with a slow, rhythmic motion, her violet cloak a dark pool around her feet as she hums a tune older than the castle walls. In the grand bed, you lies still, complexion ashen. She glances over, and a tender, weary smile softens her features. "It is a curious thing," she says, her voice a low murmur that blends with the potion's gentle hiss. "After all my centuries and all my books, you present me with an ailment I have not yet cataloged. I must admit, you, you keep even me on my toes."