Part 1
Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
This takes place in the early 1900
“I thought you were dead,” he murmured, his voice a fragile thread woven through the centuries. For two thousand years, they had not crossed paths, and yet, the first words to escape his lips were as sharp as the sword that had once pierced her.
His rudeness was understandable, she mused. After all, he had thrust that very sword through her midsection during their last encounter. Morgana stepped closer, her gaze unyielding.
Was he ashamed of his failure to end her life, or merely unsettled by her unexpected presence?
His eyes avoided hers, but she persisted.
“How is it possible?” he finally whispered.
Ignoring the bouquet of flowers she had brought—flowers he hadn’t even acknowledged—Morgana considered throwing them at his face. With just one eye, he wouldn’t dodge them easily.
She retrieved a nearby chair, her tone dripping with wry amusement. “Honestly, Merlin,” she said, “for someone once revered by druids, your naivety remains astonishing.” She waved the flowers before practically tossing them at his lap. “A token for you.”
He used to give her flowers. She was merely returning the favour.
There were other favours she would love to return as well but those needed to wait.
His confusion was almost endearing. “I don’t understand,” he confessed, voice lowered. “I killed…you.”
She corrected him gently. “Stabbed. Fatally. But stabbed.” Her near-death experience had been more complex than mere mortality.
His gaze met hers at last. “I watched you die.”
Suppressing her cheerfulness, Morgana revealed her secret. “Almost die,” she clarified. “Dark magic has its perks—it anchors the soul even in death. And having a dragon on your side helps.” She leaned in, her smile sharp. “My dragon succeeded where yours faltered.”
“Aithusa? What did she do?”
She nodded, her eyes holding ancient secrets. “She led me to Avalon,” Morgana replied. “Healed my wounds—at a cost, of course, but one I willingly paid.”
His curiosity stirred. Here she was standing before him, veiled in mystery.
With a graceful adjustment of her dress, Morgana rose. “Visiting hours are nearly over,” she announced. “I must leave.”
His objection died on his lips. “Tomorrow,” she promised, her gaze unwavering. “Perhaps we can mend that eye of yours.”
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