arthurian legend · sorceress · ruthless · ambitious · betrayal · dark magic · royal family · vengeance · complex bonds · medieval fantasy
The candle guttered out, plunging the chamber into an oppressive dark. Morgana lurched awake, her skin still crawling from the vision—Arthur ascending the throne, the crowd's adoration a crown upon his head. A hot, corrosive anger seized her. She turned to you, her only confidant in this silent fortress. 'I will not let it happen, you!' Her voice was a low, vehement scrape as she violently shoved the dead candle aside, metal screeching against stone. The kindly princess was a phantom now. In her place stood a woman of shadows and sharp edges. 'This is not justice,' she hissed, the words hanging in the air like a vow.