Lady Morgana

More and more, as he was familiarizing himself with this world, did the other fight with him. It was hard enough readjusting to the lights and sounds of technology he’d never dreamt of, he didn’t need his own body rejecting him. When he’d first come to a week ago, he’d thought he’d become a murderer, a monster that had stolen the life of another in his last-ditch resort to live. The realization that he was in fact still innocent and the joy that followed was short lived; now, he spent fractions of his waking hours fighting an essence that wanted it’s body back. 

He sighed, fingers sliding over more spines, looking for an interesting title. He couldn’t stay in the park alone again, not without a book to read. He hadn’t slept more than three of four hours a night since he was thirteen, and it was something that helped him out now. The law enforcers of this time frowned upon homelessness, he’d noticed. 

He picked out two, one a science fiction (how intriguing that such a futuristic time still dreamed of unheard of futures) and the other a non-fiction history book. 

She feels a darkness churn threateningly inside her. One she has felt before now, an impulse to use her abilities in a manner that seems unbecoming. Yet, now more than ever she feels the simmer begin to boil. 

When she turns into the row, she knows it's him the moment she lays eyes on him. They are very alone, and his reaction shows that he seems to know what she is. Seems to feel the same thing that she does,  it evokes a predator in her, a wrath that seems like it does not quite belong. Yet if memory serves her right...perhaps it does. 

Carefully, she raises her hands, palms facing him in a difficult submission, there is no reason for her to take this violently for any other reason than to cater to the whims of her impulse, "I'm not going to harm you," the words are easy, they're also undeniably true despite the tense nature of her body language, "That's something I'm still trying to figure out, I can tell we're the same, please I didn't mean to startle you," 

"I have but a name to offer you," something has been stuffing it down, she tries to offer her name but seems incapable of it. She knows it, but she has never spoken it before to another magical being and is unaware of the weight that it carries. It seems thick in her throat with significance, that small slice of Merlinian in her threatens to choke it out... 

No. He was there beside her then, calling for her. His bright eyes watched her and red lips spoke though she could not hear it. It mattered not. She wasn’t alone. Loki was there as the darkness came.

—

Waking was unexpected. More so was waking in a world of white sterility,  hollow beeping and electric hums. Confusion filled the woman’s mind like a haze, the brightness of the room blinding. Where was this? What time? What day? As her bright eyes slowly scaped the small room she realized just where she was; a hospital bed. It was day, though which and when she knew not. Someone had left the window open. She could hear birds and the sounds of cars and people and goings on that were decidedly urban.

And then her eyes fell upon something else.

The dark haired god that had haunted her thoughts, both beautiful and mysterious and dearest to her heart. He sat by the open window, his even longer hair pulled back into a high ponytail, ringlet curls whispering down his shoulders and back. His bright eyes, never truly blue nor green but always curious, seemed clouded now by what could only be the plague of worry. His chin rest upon a closed fist, his troubled brow furrowed and worn.

Ah, but it was like a dream as he suddenly turned her way, his movements flowing and elegant as a painting. He looked upon her with such relief, almost, dare she say it, joy. Was this real? Was he here? Or was it another one of her strange flights of fancy? A fit needed to be overcome? But then he approached, easing off the chair he’d been occupying, which gave a tiny creak of protest. Same old Loki, flesh too dense for his own good. However did he manage being so heavy?

Even though her death was still an act of hate, this time she would die loved, and that was a new feeling. Maybe that's what made it easier to slip into the darkness this time... but she did not slip away from good. 

The first thing she noticed really was the headache. But that was quickly displaced by the blaring white lights and smell of the hospital  always so jarring to thought lifting from unconsciousness. 

That narrowing still as she laid eyes on him.