#hatedefined

Hard to look through her laughter, her smiles and the fun she has. Little do they know that she's trying to hide her pain with twice the usual laughter. Everything has a meaning except her life. Totally worthless and meaningless. Not worthy to be anything. Just acting too smart. Not worthy to be a girlfriend to her boyfriend or a friend to her friend.

But has fun everywhere she goes, that they think that she's a lucky one, but is not. Never has been, never will be.

I wanna go home... If not my native, the eternal home..... He should've taken her granddaughter with him. Everything is different now. She's waiting to go somewhere where no humans exist. Just the nature and her. That can cool the wound if not heal it.

She was pretty with her midnight black hair and dressed in fine silks. They suited her far better than Guinevere. She didn’t look like she itched in them either. Yes, Lady Morgana was what one would think of when thinking of a proper lady. She was of good birth and had been taught how to conduct herself in court. A far cry from Guinevere’s own roots in the wilds of Albion.

To the court with her undisciplined ways she was something like a mangy dog. She tried to not let it bother her. She would show them all one day anyway.

While Guinevere didn’t know Morgana particularly well, only having heard of the woman from Arthur himself but she was eager to make her acquaintance. No offense to Arthur, but sometimes women simply needed to spend time alone together. And perhaps if Guinevere was lucky, Morgana would share some pointers on how to survive a royal court. The tutors she had now for that were like banshees. Extremely unpleasant company those crones are.

Guinevere had shed the pretty light blue and gold dress that she had been shoved into that morning for something she was much more used to. Britches and a tunic with a rawhide vest.

“They know you, my lady,” she nods towards the cawing birds perched in the branches above. Iridescent black feathers caught the sunlight, shining with a hundred different colours. “Ravens are sacred beasts. Her messengers, her eyes and ears,— they recognise one chosen by their goddess.” In turn they brought her here, led her to a promised sanctuary and chance to reclaim a kingdom from tyranny. 

Eyes of silver fixed on the high priestess of the old religion: the true queen. “Words travel on the wind. They tell me you intend to make it so we no longer have to live in fear.” The ‘we’ did not need to be said. Those gifted with magic had been persecuted and purged; those that remained hid as best they could, suppressed their powers or fled deep within the mountains and forests of the land, some lucky few managed to flee to places where they were not slaughtered for merely existing.