Blossom in the Dark

Morgana is still breathless when she stumbles back, panicked to her chambers. She should have been prepared, should have known how it would turn out, but still she hadn’t been able to dismiss the empty hope fluttering in her breast, the hope that glowed within her until Uther took her by the throat and crushed it in his gloved hands. She sits at her dressing table, smoothing her skirts with still-shaking hands, and studies her reflection. She is flushed, eyes bright; she looks impossibly young, girlish and distraught. She tilts her head back, expecting to see a ring of bruises stark black and vivid against her throat, but her skin is as pale and perfect and unblemished as ever. She swallows and closes her eyes, and she swears she can feel the burn of choking leather tight against her neck, fingers digging in beneath her jaw to force her head up.

She lets out a ragged breath, and when she opens her eyes she is not alone. The woman, the sorceress, the one who has spoken to her in her dreams so many times is standing behind her; Nimueh is standing behind her, hands on the back of her chair, the reflection of her unnaturally blue eyes boring into Morgana’s own.

‘I told you,’ she says softly, smiling, but Morgana notices the nasty twist to her lips that curls at the corners of her mouth. ‘I told you he didn’t care for you any more than he would for a butterfly – beautiful to look at, but fleeting, nothing that he would think twice about swatting down.’

Morgana lifts her chin, regal and proud, looks Nimueh straight in the eyes. ‘What do you know?’ she asks, voice icy. ‘You skulk about in dreams and prey on people’s fears in the darkness, but you don’t understand a thing.’

Nimueh smiles indulgently and combs slender fingers through Morgana’s long dark hair. ‘I know more about Uther than you do,’ she says. Morgana wants to flinch away from her touch and her words but she holds herself still and keeps her expression closed.

‘I know more about Uther than you ever will,’ Nimueh continues. She smirks, lifts a strand of hair to her lips. ‘Would you like me to tell you?’

Morgana sneers at her. ‘I wouldn’t believe a word from you,’ she declares.

Nimueh leans down over Morgana’s shoulder; their gazes are locked in the mirror. ‘I know that Uther would kill you without a second thought if he knew what you were,’ Nimueh says, voice low in Morgana’s ear. ‘You know it too.’ Nimueh trails a lone finger along Morgana’s collarbone and wraps her hand loosely round her neck, touch lingering teasingly as she does so.

‘He’d kill you himself, you know,’ she continues. ‘He’d look into your eyes and hold your life right there in his hands, and he’d snuff it out.’ Nimueh’s words are oddly seductive in Morgana’s ear, her breath whispering close against Morgana’s neck, and Morgana’s eyes drift shut against her will. Her chest is heaving and her breath is coming short, Uther and Nimueh both burning bright in her mind.

‘It doesn’t have to end like that, you know. It could be you; you could bring him to his knees, you could master him, own him, end him.’ Morgana is panting audibly now and Nimueh’s hand toys with the low neckline of her dress, brushing against her breasts. ‘I would let you,’ Nimueh promises and Morgana cannot suppress a shudder. She feels Nimueh’s lips against her throat, the bite of teeth against her pulse-point.

‘Think about it,’ Nimueh says, and all sensation of her vanishes. Morgana opens her eyes and is alone, her chambers dark and empty. She tilts her head to see the bitemark red and stark against her throat. She puts her head in her hands and weeps.