#eamon spewraith

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Anemone was sat at the desk in Morgana's home in Bally Owenath. She stared dully at the blank sheet of parchment and ink pot and pen resting on said desk. Her eyes were half glazed over with unshed tears. She choked back a sob.

 She had only just come back after checking on Eamon and Morgana's states. Aiden was still by Morgana's side at the doctor's, so he wouldn't be back until the doctor forces him home.

 Anemone could scarcely believe it, despite having seen it before her. And then she volunteered to write a letter explaining to Morgana's sister that her last living family member nearly died. Anemone desperately tried to blink back the tears.

 What was she going to write? Róisín deserved- no, needed to know about what happened to Morgana.

 God, how was she supposed to explain in a letter that Morgana got caught up in a raid alone and nearly died? How was she supposed to explain that Morgana expended nearly all her magic and was now comatose? How was she supposed to tell Róisín that Morgana might never wake up again? Or that if she did wake up, that there would be a high chance she would have amnesia?

 A fear tears escaped down her cheeks so she wiped them away with the corner of her sleeve. Morgana had nearly died. Could still nearly die. Might not ever wake up. Might never remember anything.

 Anemone's chest heaved as she repressed her sobs. She had promised Róisín that she'd look after Morgana and keep her from doing anything too stupid. And now she had broken that promise and Morgana was comatose.

 Anemone wondered briefly if this is how the Lords had felt after the first attempted assassination on the King's life.

 Anemone blinked to clear her tear-blurred vision and took a few deep breaths. “I can do this. I can write a letter to Róisín. Doesn't matter if it's in a clinical tone. I just need to inform her of Morgana's situation.” She mumbled to herself.

 She picked up the quill and dipped it in the ink. She focussed on her breathing and then began writing out the letter. The scritch-scratch sound of the quill on the paper was soothing.

 Word after word, she wrote. A few stray tear drops splashed into the parchments and Anemone didn't have the energy to redo the letter on a clean piece of parchment.

 The tea she had made not long before settling down to write the letter had gotten cold but Anemone didn't care. It was another familiar thing she could latch onto as she wrote the letter. She felt numb.

 She signed the end of the letter, folded it up, put it in the envelope, and placed the wax seal on it. She would have to go tomorrow and find a messenger to get the letter to Róisín.

 She stumbled out of the chair and sat down on the floor beside the door. Once grounded, she let all her repressed sobs bubble up.

 She wasn't sure how long she sat there, crying her eyes out and contemplating the fate of her friend. Midway through she had realised that had Morgana not been found, she likely would have died and been resurrected as a minion for Anti. She would have become the thing she died fighting. And that thought, that thought of Morgana dying and becoming a minion, it terrified Anemone. She never had to really face the consequences of this war between the Lords and the Enemy. She and Aiden had been lucky, their parents were happy and healthy with their mundane and simple jobs, far from any danger of the monsters and minions of the Enemy. Neither she nor Aiden had actually ever fought or seen a raid, not until last night. Not until they saw Morgana so laying so still in the Western Forest.

 Anemone didn't notice that Aiden was home until a pair of arms wrapped around her in a hug.

 The letter could wait to be sent until the morrow, for now, Anemone needed to rest.

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 It had been three years.

 Three years since his death.

 Three years since she last saw him.

 Three years since the first and last time she visited his grave.

 Three years.

 Morgana hoped that Connor would forgive them, for not visiting in three years. But neither she nor Róisín could bear to peel back the bandages on the festering wound that was his death. She had run away to join the watch and Róisín had chased after her. In the watch, both had been too busy to truly mourn Connor. Not until now, she supposed.

 The Spewraith children had a habit of avoiding visiting their relatives' graves, clearly.

 It had been three years since either of them had last visited their Mum's grave as well. Not since they relocated her to where she had originally requested she be buried, deep in Western Forest. In a glade, she oft visited when she first immigrated from Fasithe back to her ancestral home of where would become House Marvin. Back before she met their father and moved to House Schneeplestein, with him.

 They would have buried her there first, but their father hated the Western Forest. And so she was first buried by the old willow tree that stood beside their home in House Schneeplestein, against her dying wish.

 Morgana would have visited her more often had it not been such a difficult place to visit, so deep within the Western Forest.

 It had been even longer since anyone visited their father's grave. Morgana couldn't visit their father's grave even if she wanted to, not that she did, as both Connor and Róisín refused to let her go to their father's funeral and never told her where he was buried, due to his treatment of Morgana. She didn't think Róisín or Connor had actually visited the grave since the funeral. Maybe they might've visited his grave if he had kept only accusing her of being cursed, instead of also accusing her of matricide and being a changeling (and therefore not his real daughter) that was there to steal their mother away to the Western Forest. She was pretty sure that both of them liked their father up until he started spouting those accusations.

 Morgana shook her head as her thoughts digressed. She was here to visit Connor today, not contemplate about her parents' and their graves. Although she should probably try and visit her mother's grave soon.

 She walked to the trees near the stables of Rúnach Hold and stared at the little plot of land where Connor had been buried. The only marker that his grave was here, was his first non-training sword stabbed into the ground like a gravestone. The blade was completely rusted over. The small stone carved plaque bearing his name rested against the sword had started to smooth from weathering. Wormwood and Forget-me-nots had begun to cover the ground surrounding the half-buried sword.

 The sight brought tears to her eyes. Careful not to crush any plants, she fell to her knees before the rusted sword.

 Morgana closed her eyes and listened to the world around her. To the faint rustling of the wormwood, forget-me-nots, bushes, and leaves on the trees. To the whistle of the breeze and the birdsong. To the whinnies of the horses. To the distant hubbub of the watchers within the outpost.

 She listened to the sound of Eamon slowly padding over to sit beside her.

 The weight of him beside her both comforted her and made her feel worse. Was he really four years old now? Had he only been a year old when Connor died?

 She clicked her tongue and he climbed on top of her lap. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug as the first tears began to fall.

 It took a minute before her tears dried and Eamon shuffled off her lap to sit next to her again.

 “Thank you.” She whispered, feeling like she had a lump in her throat.

 She opened her eyes and stared at the sword. “I doubt you can hear me, it's been three years. Your soul has probably already been taken by a Fae to the afterlife.”

 She paused to breathe. “I miss you. I'm sorry it's been so long. I'm sorry I never mourned for you properly… I just…” Her words were cut off by a half sob.

 Eamon whined and nudged her hand with his nose.

 She patted him on the head and inhaled deeply. “You probably don't know, since you're dead but Róisín and I went back to Fort Stiofán after you died. I joined the Watch this time. I made two close friends, Anemone and Aiden, and a bunch of other friends. I think you would have really liked those two. They're twins. Anemone's into archery, and Aiden was the one who got me back into horse riding after your death.”

 Morgana tipped her head back and inhaled. “I recently returned back to our home here in House Marvin. Róisín's still at Fort Stiofán. I kinda ran away from her because I was tired of being known as her little sister and I wanted to…”

 She paused. “You'll probably hate what you're about to hear but I want to explore the Western Forest. I want to see all those creatures that mama told me tales and legends about when she had still been alive. I want to meet the nice Fae she always spoke about.”

 Morgana half grimaced. “Y'know, the ones that always made father… The Fae that always made father mad. Although any mention of the Fae made him mad. I suppose that's why he accused me of killing mama and of me being a changeling. So he could rationalise hating me. Well, that's what I think anyway.”

 She idly stroked Eamon's fur, to keep herself grounded. “I want to someday find Fasithe. I want to meet mama's family. I want to see the culture that mama came from. To hear the tales she's told me once again.”

 Morgana frowned. “That's something you, Róisín, and father all have in common. None of you had the same love of the Forest and magic and the Fae as mama and I have. Father hated anything and everything to do with magic and the Fae. You just wanted to run away from our family to go play knights. And Róisín cared more for science than magic…”

 She sighed and stared up at the darkening sky. “I'm sorry. I should probably go now. It's getting late and Aiden and Anemone are waiting for me.”

 She stood up, cast her gaze upon the sword once more and then turned on her heel and walked away from Rúnach Hold with Eamon not far behind her.

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Morgana was stood on a faded beaten track that led into the Western Forest. She had donned a dark green cloak to try and keep away some of the night's chill and to protect her from thorns, should she accidentally wander too far into the forest. She gazed at the fringes of the forest. Watching, waiting.

 She held her left arm outstretched with her falconry glove on. Her Red Kite eyass, Ceara, rested on the glove, watching the forest with interest. Ceara shuffled her feet and ruffled her feathers every so often, impatient.

 Eamon stood beside Morgana, flank pressed up against her leg. He was wearing the leather collar and armour Morgana had gotten him since their last jaunt in the Western Forest.

 Morgana tilted her head to the side, she needed to double check something. “Ceara, mind hopping down and holding onto Eamon's collar for a minute, please?”

 Ceara gave a squawk of affirmation and launched off the glove into the air where she then circled around Eamon and latched onto his collar.

 Eamon made a grumbling protest but Morgana ignored him in favour of double checking all the equipment she had brought with her.

 She rifled around in her bag for a few seconds before spotting the pouch of sand, the bag of pretty stones and crystals, the small jar of honey, the hag stone with the cord wrapped around it to make it a necklace, and the bone ring carved with ancient protection sigils and runes. Morgana quickly slipped the ring and necklace on, mumbling “Better safe than sorry.” as she did so. She then double checked that her two daggers and their sheaths were still tied to her belt. She also checked that her quarterstaff was still slung over her back.

 Eamon barked at her.

 Morgana huffed. “Yeah, you're right. I probably should have my quarterstaff out in case we stumble across anything unfriendly.” She pulled her quarterstaff off her back and held it in her right hand.

 She closed her bag up and outstretched her gloved left arm again. “Ceara, back!”

 Ceara trilled and returned to resting on the glove.

 Morgana clicked her tongue and walked off the beaten track and into the sparsest part of the Western Forest, Eamon close behind.

 As they walked, Eamon made a series of barks to Morgana.

 Morgana glanced at Eamon with a raised eyebrow, concerned. “Oh, Eamon. It'll be fine, the raids have started to die down and we're only going to stay on the fringes of the Western Forest to get Ceara acclimated to flying in forested areas at night. We'll be fine and anyway, what are the odds that the raids suddenly increase and intensify tonight and we get caught up in one.”

 Once at a wide clearing, Morgana stopped. “Here looks nice. Shall we start with some…” A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. She swayed slightly and Eamon rushed to help keep her from falling over. Ceara screeched in alarm.

 Morgana crouched down and focussed on her breathing until the dizziness passed, which luckily only took a few seconds. She patted Eamon on the head. “Thanks boy. I don't why I felt so dizzy all of a sudden. I think I'm fine now though.”

 Eamon stared at her unconvinced but nodded, his stare clearly conveyed a silent "I told you so".

 Morgana huffed as she straightened up again only for Ceara to fling herself off the glove and fly deep into the Western Forest.

 Eamon yelped in surprise.

 “Ceara!” She gasped, brain processing what just happened. “No, no, no! Come back! Ceara! Stop!”

 But Ceara did not stop or come back.

 “Eamon, I know I said before we arrived that I wouldn't venture too deep into the Western Forest alone again, but we have to go after Ceara, she's only two and a half months old. She'll die out there without us.” Morgana pleaded, eyes shimmering with the unshed tears of panic and desperation.

 Eamon grumbled something under his breath before nodding again, it was probably something along the lines of "We'll die out there." But Morgana didn't quite catch exactly what he said, so she wasn't sure.

 Morgana nodded, feeling filled with determination. She quickly summoned a crow with her magic and ordered it to follow after Ceara.

 The sparkling silver crow shot off after Ceara, Morgana and Eamon sprinted after it to keep up, hot on its heels. The crow led them further and further, deeper and deeper into the Western Forest. If she hadn't been so concerned over the fate of Ceara, she might've been worried about accidentally offending a Fae or attracting some unwanted attention from the forest's inhabits as she and Eamon followed the crow. Or maybe she would have been more concerned over the steadily worsening nausea she was feeling, the deeper she went and the longer time in the forest she spent. They were so deep into the forest now, that it would have been nigh impossible to see had it not been for the faint glow of the silver crow. They had to backtrack a few times, which certainly didn't help, as Ceara had flown through areas where Morgana and Eamon could not follow on foot.

 Eventually, they reached a large rock in the forest with Ceara sitting on top of it, looking awfully frazzled.

 “Ceara?” Morgana called hesitantly.

 Ceara immediately perked up and dashed over to Morgana as soon as she spotted her, landing carefully on the glove.

 “Ceara what happened? Why'd you get spooked?” Morgana asked.

 Ceara warbled fearfully.

 “Wait, what?” Morgana stared blankly at Ceara. “What do you mean bad thing? How could you have seen something suspicious this far away? We're completely lost in and way too deep into the Western Forest right now.”

 Ceara flapped her wings and cawed.

 “Well, I suppose that's fair… Wait, what's that?” Morgana's attention was grabbed by what looked like strange green and red glows a little ways away from where she and her two- three animal companions were huddled.

 “Woah that's so cool!” She mumbled, completely enamoured by the pretty light show, not realising that with the lights, her nausea had grown worse and her skin had started to itch. “So co— hoLY KING'S EYEBALLS!” Her voice went up a pitch as she near screeched, sounding not too dissimilar to when Ceara screeches. A dark shadowy, mostly humanoid figure was lumbering towards her through the trees. It has come from where the pretty lights were coming from.

 It was then that Morgana noticed how nauseous she was feeling and how staticky the air had become. Her mind raced. Her pulse quickened. She instinctively reached to her back for her bow. She grasped thin air. She had left her bow at home. She didn't think she would have needed it. Not when this was just supposed to be flight training. And now she was face to face. Face to face with one of the Enemy's minions. She felt sick. Her heart racing. Breathing quick and shallow. Her hands shook. Her grip tightened on her quarterstaff. Knuckles turning white. The creature— the thing stumbled closer and closer.

 She willed the crow to attack. She stumbled back a few steps. The crow swooped down and attacked. The minion became distracted. Morgana's heart thundered in her chest. Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears. The static at the edge of her vision was becoming more and more visible. She felt frozen. Whether in fear or something else, she wasn't sure. But she was unable to move. The minion and the crow fought. She couldn't bear to watch. But she couldn't stop watching. Everything was a blur. Moving too fast, too slow. The minion hit the crow. The crow shattered into hundreds of thousands of silver sparkles. Morgana's felt a knot tighten in her chest. Had it become more difficult to breathe? She couldn't tell. Not over the pretty glow of the ominous lights. Not over the pounding of her heart. Not over the static slowly creeping over her vision.

 The minion lurched forwards. It swiped. It hit. Blood. She was bleeding. Morgana could see herself bleeding. Cloak half shredded. Tunic ripped. So much blood. How deep was this wound? She couldn't focus. Extreme pain lanced through her. She fell to the ground. A massive black with green eyes cat- not a cat thing pinned her down. Where were Eamon and Ceara? Were they okay?

 She was still holding her quarterstaff. Her right arm wasn't fully pinned down. She had a chance. One chance. One wrong move and she'd die. But with the correct move, she would survive. She inhaled— She was breathing again, that was good. And slammed the top of the quarterstaff into the unprotected throat of the feline beast. Pain. The beast screeched. It scrambled off her. Morgana clambered away and grabbed a tree for purchase. Using it to help pull herself up. She could move again. The beast was prowling around her. Circling her. Morgana raised her quarterstaff before her and bared her teeth. She quickly summoned a silver version of the creature she was facing. It failed to form. The beast attacked. Morgana countered with the quarterstaff. It tried to pounce. She whipped out one of her sheathed daggers and stabbed it in the stomach. The beast hissed and stumbled back.

 It tried to swipe again. She slashed at its paw. Blood dripped down her dagger. Down into her hand. Morgana felt sick. She tried to summon a wolf. A giant silver wolf formed between her and the beast. The wolf attacked. With the beast busy, Morgana frantically glanced around for hair or feather of Eamon and Ceara. There. They were fighting the minion. Eamon's muzzle was stained red.

 “Eamon! Ceara!” Morgana called desperately. Ceara turned and immediately swooped over to her. Eamon landed one last attack, downing the minion, before sprinting towards her. The beast was still busy with the wolf. It looked like the wolf had the upper hand. Morgana inhaled deeply and tried to calm herself down when she noticed that the lights had gotten closer. Countless minions were storming through the forest, towards somewhere. She felt so very sick. A raid. Had she jinxed herself? Had she gotten caught up in a raid? There was no escaping now. This would be the end for her. Hundreds of minions everywhere. She struggled with the cat beast and the one minion. No, she would die before she could take on what had to be hundreds of minions.

 Morgana backed into the tree. A flash of brown hair caught her attention. One of the minions. She took a step towards the lights and the minions and could scarcely stifle her gasp and mutterings in time. “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

 It couldn't be. He was dead. But it was. It had to be. Surely. No, that minion was too familiar for her comfort. She had to be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Or both. She couldn't be though. It had to be him. Her brother. Her dead brother.

 “Connor…” She whimpered, terrified of what this could mean. His eyes. They were septic. No longer those sea blue eyes that changed shade with the ocean. Just black and green and septic. She felt her heartstrings rent. So much rending pain. She shuffled backwards with uneasy steps. A crunch of a twig beneath her boots made her heartbeat and breathing stutter in sync. Fear coursed through her veins as Connor and three other minions stopped marching and turned their heads to stare blankly at her. It was at that moment she felt the sharp sting of the wolf shattering into silver sparkles. She stepped back, quarterstaff raised. Eamon was growling and barking. Ceara was screeching like a banshee.

 Morgana was glad there were no Fae right now, she didn't think she would be able to cope with a Fae and four of the Enemy's minions converging on her. The static was getting worse. She felt so dizzy. So sick. She collapsed onto the ground, onto her knees. Her hair came loose from its plait and formed a curtain, blocking her site. She sobbed. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 With the last of her strength, she tried to summon as many large and powerful animals as she could muster with her magic. The cacophony of animal calls was deafening. She looked up and through her hair and the blood dripping down her face— when had she started bleeding from the head?— she could vaguely make out the shapes of Eamon and Ceara circling her and protecting her. She tried to call out to them. She reached out an arm for Eamon. She tried to tell her summoned creatures and Eamon and Ceara to not kill her brother. She could not speak. Her vision became overlapped completely by the static, rendering her blind. She collapsed again. From her knees, she fell to the ground, half curled up on her side. Hair splayed out like a halo around her head. Blood pooling at her side.

 The static was slowly overtaken by the darkness.

 And then it all went dark, not just her vision.

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 The raids on Bally Owenath ended at the break of dawn.

 It was midday by the time Anemone and Aiden burst out of Morgana's house. Both had only gotten a few winks of sleep as they had been busy fighting the raid that had attacked the village last night and then spent the morning switching between resting and repairing the village.

 “Morgana! Morgana! Oh, where the fuck have you gone!?” Anemone yelled.

 A few villagers stared at her but most were too busy repairing buildings, putting out fires, calling out for their own dead or missing loved ones, or catching up on their missing sleep to care.

 “Her falconry glove. It's gone! As is Eamon's collar and armour.” Aiden called out from the garden.

 “Don't tell me she went out to the Western Forest last night…” Anemone whimpered, eyes wide with what that potentially could mean.

 Aiden gulped. “If she did… the raids came from the Western Forest.”

 “We have to find her!” Anemone looked towards the Western Forest.

 Aiden nodded to Anemone and the two split up to go gather their gear and any other equipment they would need to venture into the forest to find their friend.

 It took them barely five minutes each for the two of them to get fully geared up and ready to go. They left the village and went across the rickety bridge to the other side.

 The twins were stood on a faded beaten track that led into the Western Forest. They gazed at the fringes of the forest. Watching, waiting.

 “How are we going to find her?” Aiden asked in a small voice.

 Anemone glanced at Aiden and grimaced. “I don't know.”

 He pursed his lips. “Ah.”

 “Yeah.”

 A shadow flew over them with a familiar sounding caw. The shadow swooped down onto one of the tree branches near them. The sunlight revealed the shadow to actually be Ceara.

 Anemone grinned. “I think we may have found our ticket to finding Morgana!”

 Ceara shifted on the branch and flapped her wings. She cawed again and tilted her head towards the Western Forest.

 Aiden smiled in relief. “I think she wants us to follow! That must mean Morgana's okay!”

 Anemone opened her mouth to say "If she's okay, then why didn't she and Eamon follow Ceara out if the forest." But closed her mouth and instead decided not to say that, once she saw the hopeful look on her brother's face.

 It felt like ages, following Ceara. Eventually, they came across a big rock surrounded by fallen trees. The area was covered in blood. A fight had definitely happened here. Two corpses littered the ground. Anemone and Aiden immediately recognised them as minions of Anti.

 Anemone felt her heart plummet. Minions meant bad news. And if Morgana had to face an entire raid on her own so deep into the forest. Anemone didn't want to think about the implications of that.

 Ceara landed on one of the still standing tree's branches. Beneath the tree was a humanoid looking shape hidden by a torn cloak. It looked like Morgana's cloak...

 Anemone crouched beside the cloak and gently lifted up a corner of the cloak. Once she saw what lay beneath, she dropped the cloak and covered her mouth with her hands as she gasped. Blinking back tears she addressed her twin. “Aiden…”

 Neither noticed the pair of eyes watching them. Nor the missing ancient bone ring. Nor the opened and empty jar.

 “Yeah?” He asked, sounding cautious.

 “I— I think I found Morgana…” Anemone choked out.

 Aiden turned around and scrambled over to Anemone “Great! Where is sh— oh.”

 Anemone lifted the cloak off of Morgana completely.

 Aiden fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands.

 She was so very still. Eamon was beside her. His chest rose every few seconds, indicating he was still alive though.

 Anemone leaned forward to move some of Morgana's hair out of her face. Her eyes were closed. If Anemone ignored the blood staining Morgana's tunic, she could almost pretend that she was simply sleeping.

 Anemone froze. Was that her imagination, or did she just hear the faint wheezing of breath? She frantically placed her fingers on Morgana's neck, to check her pulse.

 At first, nothing and then she felt a very weak heartbeat. So very weak, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

 Anemone cried in relief. “Aiden. Aiden, there's a heartbeat. She's alive!” Then it dawned on her. “We need to get her to a doctor as quickly as possible

. And we need to get Eamon to a vet or at least to someone who can help him.”

 Aiden lifted his head from his hands and hugged Anemone. “I'll grab her stuff and carry Eamon.”

 She nodded. “Then I'll carry her. But first we should check for injuries so we don't hurt them when we move them.”

 Aiden nodded.

 After a few minutes of meticulous injury checking, Anemone and Aiden picked up Morgana, Eamon, and her possessions she had brought with her into the forest.

 Anemone looked up at Ceara. “Can you lead us home?”

 Ceara, who had been silently watching them, squawked and flapped her wings.

 “I have no idea what you're saying, so I'll take that as a yes?” Anemone muttered.

 Ceara cawed and took flight. She circled around them a few times before slowly flying off in the direction of the village. Anemone and Aiden tried to follow Ceara as quickly as possible.

 When they arrived back in the village, it was late evening. Morgana was rushed to the local doctor and Eamon was rushed to the local veterinarian. Luckily all the village folk and animals who had been injured during the raid had received treatment from the doctor and vet respectively during and after the raid, so there was no wait for them to receive treatment.

 Anemone had gone back to Morgana's house to put Ceara back in her mews and to then had been planning to check on Eamon at the vets so Aiden was sat in the waiting room of the doctors alone when the doctor approached him.

 “I've got some good news and some not so good news about your friend Miss Morgana Spewraith. Which would you prefer to hear first?” The doctor asked kindly.

 He glanced at his sister and then to the doctor. “I think we would prefer the good news first.”

 The doctor nodded in understanding. “Well then, the good news is that Miss Spewraith should be able to recover in a matter of weeks. All her injuries were shallow or superficial and she hadn't lost too much blood. Although from the signs, she recently cast a spell that nearly used up all the magic in her soul. It's likely that she'll fall into a coma, or may have amnesia should she wake up. Just make sure she does nothing strenuous for the first week, and no using any of her magic either, she needs time to recover her magic or else she'll lose it permanently.”

 He nodded, feeling his heart plummet. “Oh… and the bad news?”

 The doctor grimaced. “Before I tell you the news, I need to double check something with you two first. Now you said that you found Miss Spewraith in the state you brought her in, in the Western Forest this morning correct?”

 Aiden frowned. “Yeah. We believe she went into the forest sometime before the raid started and got attacked by some of the minions. The area we found her in looked like a fight had taken place.”

 The doctor nodded solemnly. “My magic focus allows me to find abnormalities. Normally I use it to find unseen injuries, or unknown allergies, or to work out what is wrong with a patient. However whilst treating Miss Spewraith, I noticed an anomaly to do with her magic. Or well the magic residue on her, more specifically.”

 Aiden paled.

 The doctor continued, “I've treated patients who were affected by the Overnight Defence. The magic traces- the residue, is the same as what I've detected on Miss Spewraith.”

 “So you detected The Enemy's influence on her then?” Aiden asked.

 The doctor nodded. “Look, no need to worry, she's a watcher, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

 Aiden bit back a scathing remark and pursed his lips.

 The doctor smiled. “Oh by the way, whilst she still hasn't woken up yet, she's well enough to have visitors now.”

 Aiden smiled hollowly. “Thank you, can I see her now?”

 “Yes, just follow me.” The doctor walked through a door and Aiden followed.

 Once in the room, the doctor reminded him not to touch anything and to call if she needs help or wakes up and then left him and Morgana alone in the room.

 Aiden grabbed Morgana's hand and whispered to himself more than to her. “What happened to you in there that caused you to nearly use up all of your magic to cast a spell? Why'd you even go to the Western Forest last night? You could've died…”

 He sighed. “I— I'm sorry, just… Please wake up, please be okay.”

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Dear Róisín Spewraith.

 I regret to inform of your sister's current state. You may have heard about the mass raids that occurred on this month. The village of Bally Owenath where Morgana, my brother, and I were staying was attacked.

 Fortunately, at the time Morgana was not in the village during the raid. We didn't even realise she was missing until after the raids had ended.

 Unfortunately, she had snuck out during the night, not long before the raid and ventured into the Western Forest with Eamon and her red kite fledgeling, Ceara.

 We found Ceara around midday, the day after the raid, and she guided us to somewhere deep within the Western Forest. When we found Morgana, it was clear a fight had taken place. There were two corpses of The Enemy's minions nearby. Morgana had been covered completely by her cloak and was near death, Eamon was unconscious and injured beside her.

 We rushed both to the respective doctors and we were told by the doctor that they found traces of The Enemy's influence on Morgana, likely from being so close to a raid within the forest. According to the doctor, had she expended any more magic, she would have separated her magic from her soul.

 As of writing this, she had yet to wake up but she's still alive.

 I'm sorry I couldn't keep the promise I made to you.

~Yours sincerely, Anemone Macgowan.

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 She opened her eyes. The ground. All she could see was the ground. The ground was covered in bright green grass. The sky was a bright cloudless blue. The flowers among the grass where bright. Everything was so bright. She was in a garden, a familiar garden. She was on the ground. She had fallen over. She was half curled up on her side. Her hair was splayed out like a halo around her head. How'd she get here?- Why was she here?- What was she doing on the ground?-

 She felt so dizzy. Oh, she was bleeding. Just a graze though. Her left knee was grazed. It hurt? She couldn't feel the pain, but she was crying and something was telling her that she was in pain. Hadn't she bruised that knee, not grazed it?-

 A shadow reached towards her and whilst her mind panicked, her body didn't seem to register a threat. Relief and joy filled her. Why was she relieved?- Why was she happy?- Something shadowy was reaching towards her?-

 The shadows melted away to reveal a familiar hand.

 “Connor!” She heard herself say, voice watery. Probably because she had been crying.

 She felt herself look and saw him. Tousled brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was standing in a shaft of sunlight, making him glow like a holy being of some sort. He was smiling but his brows were furrowed from concern. Why was he concerned?- Was it from her graze?- Her fall?-

 He kept reaching towards her, to help her up.

 And the garden melted away like the shadows around Connor's hand. What was left after the garden melted away, was the Western Forest.

 He stopped smiling. His expression became vacant, blank like he wasn't quite all there anymore.

 And then his eyes. White and blue became black and green. Glowing green. Septic.

 His hand was still reaching but now it was covered in blood. Her blood. Blood was pooling around her side.

 He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up off the ground. She grit her teeth, tears sprang to her eyes.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 She was going to die.

 He was going to kill her.

 He was going to kill her.

 He was going to kill her.

 His rusted grave sword was in his other hand. He lifted it up to her throat. She could feel the cold and coarse texture of the rusted metal.

 She didn't dare breathe in case it would cut her.

 Ever so slowly, the rusted sword melted away into a simple knife. The knife was still pressed up against her throat.

 She could feel the blade digging in. The pressure was terrifying. One wrong move and her throat would be slashed just like King Seán's.

 Black tendrils crept around the edges of her vision as the static faded into sight from the corners of her eyes. The pretty lights were back, glowing from behind the trees surrounding them.

 Her breathing hitched and her vision swam. She felt so nauseous.

 She couldn't move, as the knife dug deeper into her skin and broke the skin. Beads of blood formed along the edge of where the blade met the flesh.

 She couldn't breathe. The static was rapidly overtaking her vision. She was crying. Blood. She was crying blood.

 A strange thin material wrapped itself around her neck and wrists. She felt a burning pain.

 She closed her eyes and tried in vain to block out the world as the unforgettable sensation of her neck being sliced open caused the static to completely overtake her.

 The world went dark.

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 She wasn't sure how long she had spent, floating in this darkness. But it was long enough for the pain to start subsiding. Not too far away from where she was, a faint pale green glow appeared. She stumbled her way over to it, somehow unable to float through the blackness anymore.

 Once she reached the light, she could see that it was illuminating a massive oily black wall apparently formed from crystals. She reached forward and touched the surface, causing it to ripple like some sort of strange liquid.

 As she touched it, she realised it was more like a waterfall than a wall and so submerged her hand in it to see what would happen. The liquid acted like any liquid, so when nothing happened, she tried to walk through it.

 She walked out through the other side only to find herself in what could only be described as a room of mirrors. Except she had no reflection.

 She walked around the small room, gently running her hand across the mirror panels. One mirror panel shimmered as she touched it and once the shimmering passed, her reflection materialised.

 But it wasn't her reflection?- Was it?-

 No, it couldn't be. What she could see in the mirror was something so twisted. She would never be like that.

 This reflection- doppelganger- thing- simulacrum could only be described as hollow. Thinner and paler than she was. No freckles, hollow cheeks, pure black eyes and a large sluggishly bleeding slit across its throat. The simulacrum wore it's hair loose, unlike her plait. Upon the simulacrum's head was a crown of bones interwoven with asphodel. The simulacrum wore a simple white silken dress splattered in what had to be blood. Countless necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and rings of bone adorned the simulacrum. Every piece of bone jewellery it wore, crown and all, had ancient carvings covering every inch of them. Bittersweet nightshade was draped around the simulacrum, it almost looked like the bittersweet nightshade had grown on and around it. Dead leaves were scattered on the darkness around their bare feet. Fine red strings were tied around their wrists and neck trailing into the void behind them.

 She stumbled back as she took in the horrifying twisted thing of a simulacrum that stared back at her with its unblinking eyes. She mouthed an unintelligible stream of words as she struggled to say something. Tears streamed down her face as she could only watch as the simulacrum shattered the mirror and began climbing through towards her.

 She scrambled away until her back hit the wall. Trapped. She was trapped with no escape.

 The simulacrum practically glided over to her, unnatural and creepy.

 The simulacrum smiled at her as it stopped a step before her. It whispered- chanted some strange language she had never heard spoken before. It lifted up a bone dagger with similar ancient carvings on it to the bone jewellery.

 She flinched as the simulacrum gently traced the line across her neck where the Connor had slit her throat. The simulacrum then dug the tip of the blade into her throat. Rivulets of blood trickled from the cut.

 When the bone knife pierced her skin, it felt as though she had been plunged into an icy maelstrom. She couldn't breathe. Was she drowning?-

 The world came crashing down.

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 Morgana awoke in her bed to the iron smell of blood and the sharp sting of metal and an open wound upon her neck.

 She opened her eyes to see what could only be a figure clad in a cloak of shadows holding a blade to her neck.

 Her body started moving before she even processed what she was perceiving. She kicked out against the shadowed figure, which moved out of her range before the hit could land and grabbed at the knife and yanked it as far away from her as she could see.

 The knife clattered to the ground and Morgana's shoulders heaved as she gasped for breath. The curtains billowed and cast a beam of moonlight on the knife. It took a minute before she caught her breath.

 She slowly shuffled off her bed, careful not to disturb Eamon who was kicking and snuffling in his sleep.

 She stood up and picked up the knife. It was one of her spare daggers, not a knife. She placed it on the bedside table. Morgana swallowed thickly, very much rattled from her nightmare.

 "But what if it was a prophetic dream?" Whispered a little voice in her head.

 If it was prophetic, then she was going to die and apparently become what could only be a Fae. But why would she become a Fae and that still wouldn't explain the strings wrapped around her or the slit throat. That sounded more like what Anti would do. Maybe that meant she'd become like Connor? A puppet.

 The thought made her want to retch.

 The simulacrum had had pure black eyes. Those weren't a sign of Anti's influence. The Fae maybe but definitely not Anti. Unless of course, the simulacrum was a Fae that got puppeted. Could Anti even do that?- Puppet a Fae?- Weren't they too powerful to control?-

 For a split second, Morgana felt too terrified to move, petrified. The prospect that Anti could puppet a Fae was horrifying. The Fae were immensely powerful but for one to be puppeted, Anti would be nigh unstoppable.

 Wait no, the puppetry wouldn't work on a Fae?- Because in the legend she helped bard Autumn Green translate, the puppet magic was an abomination once similar to Fae magic. So that would mean it shouldn't affect the Fae? Unless the puppetisation is the result of a spell which would mean Fae would be affected and thus vulnerable to it? But then that would beg the question as to why Anti hasn't puppeted any Fae yet?

 Morgana felt sick and an overwhelming urge to run away into the forest.

 She got up and changed from her nightclothes into her casual clothing. She hissed when a part of her tunic caught the cut on her neck. She had forgotten she had felt the sting of the blade after waking. Especially after so many blades to the throat in that nightmare.

 She carefully raised her hand to her neck and traced around where the cut was. It was a small cut, no longer than her little finger, and started on the side of her neck and curled around to the front.

 Morgana gave the cut a quick clean and shivered. She was glad it was such a small cut, it wouldn't leave as obvious of a scar.

 With the cut taken care of, she walked into the lounge and kitchen-dining room area and grabbed her bag left by her favourite place to sit. She double checked inside it as she hadn't touched it since, well…

 The pouch of sand was still full, the bag of pretty stones and crystals was still full, the small jar of honey was empty, the hagstone necklace was there (probably taken off and put in there whilst she was in a coma), and the carved bone ring was gone.

 She was slightly confused, why was the honey jar emptied? Did something or someone- take the honey? She opened a cupboard and got out the big jar of honey. She then spooned a few dollops of honey into the small jar to refill it. With that done she placed the big jar back in the cupboard.

 Then her mind wandered to the bone ring and hagstone necklace. her heart plummeted as she realised that if the hagstone necklace was back in the bag, which she had been wearing before falling into a coma, then why wasn't the carved bone ring also back in the bag.

 The ring. The dream simulacrum had worn multiple carved bone rings. She had lost the ring in the forest. She hoped that a Fae hadn't taken it or something, otherwise that Fae–puppet–simulacrum might have truly been at least partially prophetic.

 She hurried back to her room and grabbed her two daggers and sheaths, making sure to not take the spare bloody one. She attached the sheaths to her belt and donned her dark green cloak (it had been repaired whilst she was comatose). She picked up her quarterstaff and then left her room as silently as possible to not wake Eamon up, or Aiden and Anemone who were in the next room. This was something she had to face alone– which was ironic considering how not even a week ago she had had her whole monologue-spiel about not going off to do stupid things alone.

 She shook her head and walked out of the house to the shed, passing Ceara's mews as she did. She unlocked the shed and grabbed her bow and quiver. She slung her bow and quiver over her back and was just about to leave when she heard Ceara start squawking. She rushed over to the mews. “Shhh! Ceara! You need to be quiet!”

 Ceara stopped, stared at Morgana, and then chirruped.

 Morgana pursed her lips, she had intended to do this alone. “Ceara it's dangerous, I don't want you to get hurt.”

 Ceara cawed and shuffled on perch she was sitting on.

 She sighed and caved in. “Fine, let me grab your glove and then we'll go for a little midnight flight. Okay.”

 Ceara cooed, and ruffled her feathers in what could only be described as a smug manner.

 Morgana returned to the shed, grabbed the glove, and then returned to the mews to get Ceara out. She closed the door to the mews once Ceara was out and circling lazily overhead and then the two snuck away from the house and out of town.

 As they reached the outskirts of the Western Forest, Morgana stopped. Unbeknownst to the two, they had stopped in the exact same place on the faded beaten track that they had stopped at eighteen days ago on the night of the raid.

 “Ceara?” She asked slowly.

 Ceara responded with a cautious-sounding caw.

 “You remember the way to that big rock right…? The one we ended up near during the raid.” She asked quietly as if trying to avoid being heard by someone.

 Tilting her head to the side, Ceara cawed and then looked towards the Western Forest.

 Morgana nodded. “I thought so.”

 She hopped up and down on the falconry glove and squawked, wings flapping.

 Stifling a smile, Morgana nodded. “Lead the way then, just try not to rush ahead like…” She frowned and coughed, “last time.”

 Ceara stopped flapping and huddled up. She cooed softly and stared at Morgana.

 “Oh, before we go, we should be careful and try to avoid any areas that show signs of Fae or Anti’s influence. We were lucky the last time to not encounter any Fae and I would rather not have to fight any more minions.”

 Ceara bobbed her head in understanding, still staring at Morgana the whole time. Morgana glanced at Ceara. The two stared at each other for a good few seconds before Ceara launched herself into the sky and circled Morgana. Ceara then turned and began guiding her towards where they had been attacked by the minions.

 Halfway there, once they reached some of the more difficult parts of the forest to traverse, it crossed Morgana's mind that maybe, just maybe, what they were doing was incredibly stupid and dangerous. Well, it was too late now, Aiden, Anemone, and Eamon were all still asleep and she would prefer to not drag them into this. A guilty weight rested on her shoulders, she had vowed to become better and yet here she was, running away like always. At least she had Ceara with her, she had been originally planning to leave without Ceara. And perhaps she should have told Aiden, Anemone, and Róisín about Connor's puppet status. They would have reacted badly and she really didn't want to rub salt into the festering wound that was their brother's "death".

 Morgana had become so distracted by her thoughts, she nearly walked head first into a particularly gnarled tree. She stumbled back a few steps and froze when she heard a low groaning sound. Ceara silently landed on a nearby tree branch and surveyed the area they were currently in.

 A figure staggered through the trees and underbrush towards her. It looked human and completely inhuman at the same time.

 Ceara cawed loudly to warn Morgana. She whipped out her bow and nocked an arrow. She aimed at the figure and inhaled. Upon exhaling, she loosed the arrow from the bow and watched as it thudded into the centre of the thing's chest.

 She tried to nock another arrow but the minion lurched at her and swiped with its claws.

 She dive rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the claws. She heard the rip of fabric and felt a tug on the cloak. She pulled the cloak off and nocked the arrow, loosing it into the figure's neck this time.

 The arrow seemed to not cause much damage to the minion. Nor did both arrows sticking out of it seem to bother the minion. Morgana slipped her bow back over her back and grabbed one of her daggers out of its sheath in one motion.

 It swiped again. She slashed at it. Steel met flesh and bone. A sickening crack. She stumbled back in horror. The minion swiped again. She couldn't dodge in time. Pain radiated from the jagged claw-nail cuts across cheek and jawbone. She watched the minion move to attack again. She raised the dagger and struck before the minion could. One clean slice to the neck. The minion collapsed to the ground. It twitched for a few seconds and then stilled.

 Morgana raised a tentative hand to the cut upon her face and flinched. Partially from the pain and partially from the fact she now had a very obvious mark showing that she had gone out when she should still have been resting.

 The minion hadn't bled so her blade was still clean. She slid it back into its sheath. She stared at the ground where the corpse now lay, one hand severed, head half decapitated. She felt numb.

 “Oh? It's you again.” An airy voice called out, sounding almost ethereal.

 Morgana whirled around frantically, searching for the owner of the voice, mildly terrified to say in the least.

 “Over here, little one.” The voice cooed.

 The voice was coming from the right of Morgana.

 She cautiously stepped towards the trees to her right and blinked at the figure standing in the shadows.

 The figure stepped out of the shadows and directly into a moonbeam and smiled at Morgan. It was the most beautiful being she had ever seen, truly the epitome of ethereal. “Hello little one, you've done an admirable job at removing some of those wretched creatures that have been infesting my territory in such droves lately.”

 Morgana looked like a deer that had just spotted a hunter. She licked her lips anxiously. “I-uh… I'm glad that my removal of them was uh beneficial for you? Oh um, here, an offering…” She rifled through her bag and pulled out the small jar of honey and placed it on the ground before the Fae.

 Fae looked intrigued and picked up the jar. “Ah, I did quite enjoy the honey you left here last time.”

 It was then that she spotted the carved bone ring upon one of the Fae's fingers.

 She froze. The ring. The Fae had the ring.

 “Oh how rude of me,” The Fae said, “I forgot to introduce myself again. You may call me Ethel.”

 “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ethel, you may call me Morgana.” She curtsied.

 Ethel smiled. It was rather uncanny.

 Morgana hesitated. “That's a nice bone ring you have there…”

 Ethel hummed. “Yes it is nice, isn't it. You also left it here after you passed out fighting those wretched creatures. It's one of the nicer offerings I've received from humans over the centuries.”

 Morgana nodded, she clearly wasn't getting the ring back, not that she really wanted it back after that nightmare.

 Ceara cooed at Morgana and hopped off the branch on glided onto her shoulder. Her talons dug into Morgana's tunic and skin. She winced at the pain of the talons digging in.

 “You're a Fae, so you must know where Fasithe is, or at least how to get there, right?”

 “Well, I can't tell you that, not unless you make a deal of course!” Ethel exclaimed, laughing. The laugh sounded akin to the tinkle of bells or wind chimes.

 “A deal you say?” Morgana hummed, interested. “What would be the price you deem to be of equal value then?”

 The Fae grinned a grin of too many sharp teeth. “Of course, a place for a place. The only thing of equal value would be if you were to guide me to where Alice Spewraith is buried.”

 Morgana froze. “Alice Spewraith, as in my mother?”

 Ethel nodded. “Indeed, I knew her. She was a lovely mortal.”

 Morgana trembled.

 Ethel waved their hand. “No need to be afraid, little one, I won't harm you.”

 She swallowed. “Do I have to decide on whether I accept the deal or not now or can I come back at a later date?”

 “I'm simply offering you a deal. You may accept it any time we meet.”

 Morgana nodded. “You are most gracious.”

 With that, Ethel shapeshifted into a dazzling silver and white iridescent snake and slithered away.

 Morgana stood still, staring at the place Ethel had just been. “Is the cost worth it?” She whispered to Ceara.

 Ceara cooed sadly and lightened her grip on Morgana's shoulder.

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