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Futuristic The Wastes ( ellarose & Syntra )

"Oh, come on. 'A theory that you needed to test' is just an elaborate way of saying that you fucked with me." Guinevere rolled her eyes and picked her ear. Did Morgan think that she was going to sidestep the repercussions for her actions with all her flowery, fancy Camelot talk? Unimpressed, she pursed her lips when the lady proceeded to apologize. "Talking about it would've been embarrassing no matter what. Then you went and chose the most embarrassing option possible! You know I have a girlfriend! If she saw what you just did..." She dragged her fingers back through her hair and cursed softly under her breath. Fuck. Adrianne was already upset enough that she accepted the locket. She wasn't purposefully getting into these situations with the lady... but if shit like this continued, she was going to start to feel even guiltier and guiltier about it. (Had her girlfriend caught Morgan kissing her fingers and taking her hand, she genuinely couldn't blame her for drawing the conclusion that she was cheating on her.) "Ugh. Well, if I wasn't before I definitely am now. What the fuck was that?"

Guinevere wasn't sure whether or not it was comforting that they were in it together. That dream had been, uh, intimate to say the very least. (Never mind the fact that it'd felt nice and she'd felt warm and loved.) It'd made her feel to the extent that it'd built into something that was even more unnerving than just the fact that they'd kissed and shared a bed. On one end it meant it wasn't some kind of hidden fantasy her own brain had concocted... but now, knowing it was something they shared, she had to wonder if Morgan felt the same way. She had to wonder if it was just her.

"...Why are you asking me? You're the magic user here." Guinevere huffed. Magic. Why did everything have to trace back to magic? Why was it becoming such a prominent part of her life that the option of ignoring it altogether became an impossibility? (Everything went to shit and in her experience, the benefits of magic were vastly outweighed by the repercussions. It did a hell of a lot more harm than good.) It made sense to experiment with it in a place like Camelot, if the resources were readily available to rely on if need be. Magic did have benefits... but enjoying those benefits were a luxury only those born with a silver spoon in their mouths got to experience. "I've never used it. Not once. But now a magic sword's been sucked into my chest and apparently my blood grows flowers... and I dunno what to think about it all."

Then the topic of family came up. Guinevere stiffened and her gaze fell to her boots, which she began kicking lightly in the dirt. Of all things... would talking about this even help? Apparently Morgan thought so. And at this point, she supposed she had to have a reason beyond just wanting to get to know her.

"But I guess... my twin sister knew a few spells." Guinevere finally coughed out. That was understating it... but she wasn't inclined to go into the whole story until she knew exactly why Morgan needed to know any of this. What did Jen's actions have to do with her dreams, anyway? (Jen left to do her own thing a while ago. There was no way in hell she was using her magic to send her spicy dreams with a lady she'd just met.) She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What does that have to do with anything, though? Whatever she does, it shouldn't affect me. We're not, like, psychic just because we're twins or anything."

The rest of Guinevere's family-- well, that answer was a little more complicated, wasn't it? She turned on her heel and started walking down the path. Might as well keep going while they talk, right? (...It also gave her a valid excuse not to look at Morgan for this part.) It'd happened so long ago... but talking about it never got any easier. Most of her memories were shrouded in a haze, but the guilt still weighed her down. It still threatened the crush the air from her lungs. The day she made that stupid choice that tore them all apart.

"And I wouldn't know anything else about my family. I was just a little kid when we all got separated." Guinevere sighed. She remembered her mother in hues of gold, the softness of an embrace, a chiming laugh and nothing more. Then mother urgently left them with their old man, never to be seen again. (That was an ordeal all of its own.) The man was stern, yes, but also kind. Her imagination provided a little magic throughout her memories-- but considering any of her recollections of scenes going that far back would be a reach at best. "If anything, my old man always warned us not to use magic. It's powerful, yeah, but unsustainable out here. Hell, that's why I've been so set on teaching you." She paused, chewing on her thumbnail as she contemplated it. "What do you think this is, then? What should we do about it?"
 
"No, it's not," Morgan protested hotly. "The difference lies in one's intent. Had I wanted to tease you for the sake of teasing itself, then that could have been defined as 'fucking with you.' My goal was to extract more information from you, though. It's called 'the scientific method,' in case you are interested." Yes, because there was nothing more scientific than kissing the fingers of a woman you were definitely not attracted to. Nuh uh! If anything, the sorceress had only gotten to confirm to herself just how much she didn't want Guinevere in her bed. All those scenarios her brain was conjuring up? Just, uh, providing more context! You know how, when you were afraid of something happening, your imagination often created those very things so that it could torment you? Indeed, Morgan had a lot of good reasons to believe that that was exactly what was occurring here. A whole pile of them! (The most convincing one of them being that she wasn't into bandits from the wastes. The clicheness of the whole 'a lady falls for a beautiful rebel' situation was staggering, and Morgan wouldn't forgive herself for being creatively bankrupt like that. ...wait, did she just call Guinevere beautiful? Ugh, better to focus on other things.) "Yes, yes," Morgan waved her hand, as if trying to make a mosquito go away, "she's real. Congratulations. Considering what she's like, though? I am almost inclined to think that her being made-up would have been the more dignified option here. At least then she wouldn't have felt the need to be jealous over nothing." Yes, yes, over nothing! Because what Morgan was doing here was totally normal, thank you very much. No romantic implications to be seen there. Research was the furthest thing away from that, and anyone who had ever dabbled in it could attest to that. (The contents of the dream? The way it had felt just right, like the solution to a riddle so mysterious that nobody had dared to pose it? That must have been the magic coursing through her veins, telling her... something. Whispering arcane secrets in her ears. Spirits often spoke in metaphors, so taking it literally would have been a great mistake.)

Guinevere spoke, and Morgan let her. There had to be something, anything she could focus on! The woman denied it, wanted to remove any suspicions of supernatural phenomena being drawn to her, but... well. She might as well have insisted that her stay in the wastes was just a brief vacation before her triumphant return to a better, more habitable planet. Something straight from the realm of fairytales, in other words. More excuses, more deflections, the sorceress thought. Why can't you tell me the truth? Guinevere Leodegrance may have been many things, but a habitual liar she wasn't-- the hesitation Morgan read in her features told her more eloquently than words possibly could that she just wasn't used to hiding information. And, ah, that was it! A sorceress sister. Someone who, despite all the nonsensical rumors, wasn't afraid to reach for real power. Interesting, wasn't it? At least if you knew what to look for, beneath the dusty layer of superstitions.

"Of course that there isn't any mysterious link between the two of you," Morgan rolled her eyes. "What, did you expect me to say that twins' souls can travel between their bodies? Those are just fairytales that idiots who are too lazy to do actual research dream up. In other words, ninety percent of the population. Still, that doesn't mean it doesn't point to any conclusion. The conclusion is that it's in your blood, Guinevere. The potential, I mean. The ability to hear spirits... not everyone can learn it, regardless of how hard they study. Both nature and nurture need to cooperate on this one. Some people are better conductors than others, though, and it may happen that the spirits are drawn to you even if you don't actively seek them out." Morgan gave her a smile-- a grim, knowing smile, along the lines of the hated 'I told you so' sentiment. "Why do you think your father asked you not to use magic, Guinevere? Do you believe it's a common thing to say to your daughters? It's not, unless there is a reason you might suspect that they would dabble in it. To me, that suggests that you do come from a line of sorceresses. Congratulations, I suppose." And, despite herself? Despite herself, Morgan felt a twinge of excitement. (Magic was a lonely thing-- a mark on your forehead that told everyone who was willing to listen that you were impure. A witch to be burned at the nearest stake. Was it a crime, then, to be sort of happy upon meeting one such as yourself? It was a... a pact instinct, the sorceress supposed. Something engraved into one's DNA, and thus also something she wasn't responsible for. How very convenient!)

"And I assure you it's not unsustainable," Morgan frowned. "Not when you know what you are doing. In fact, I'd argue it is unsustainable to keep yourself in the dark when the spirits call out to you. It is not knowledge that is truly dangerous-- ignorance is. Anyway, I think those dreams have to do with your magical affinity. It wouldn't shock me if your talents were somehow reacting to mine, and... uh, causing these strange scenarios. Often, magic is all about symbols. In that dream, I was..." the blush returned with vengeance, but the sorceress was determined to push through. She had to! "...I was guiding you. Maybe I'm also supposed to teach you something in the real world. About magic, I mean."
 
Guinevere pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, her mind holding up a shield to the things that Morgan was saying to her. She didn't want to hear them. Didn't want to think about it. The way the magic cut through her sister's skin like a knife, the way the magic cut through everyone around them... the memories hit her in flashes and she fervently shoved them down. Yes, there was a lot about magic they didn't understand. And of course they wouldn't understand. There was hardly any time to learn in a world like this, when there were so many other things one needed to focus on just to survive. "How would you know what is and isn't common out here? It's a plenty common thing for parents to tell their kids out here. Avoid magic, 'cause it gets you killed." She exhaled a shivering breath, running her fingers back through her hair. Whether as a victim or a user, magic has done nothing but terrify people. Kill people. "And whether you like it or not, it's unsustainable out here. Don't fucking downplay it. We've barely got the means to take care of ourselves in general. How the hell are we supposed to account for the shit it does to our bodies?"

"You claim you know what you're doing and I'm sure you do... but what about that bloody tornado? And the way you collapsed in Bobstopher's camp?" Guinevere glared at the ground. She recalled blood dripping, dripping, getting absorbed into the ashy ground like a sponge. It wasn't fun to hold this kind of thing over anyone... but sometimes it needed to be said. It was the truth. It was the reality of their situation. "Don't you realize how lucky you were, that we had the resources to take care of you back then? You talk of ignorance but you've never had to survive through a winter in the wastelands. In fact, you never seem inclined to listen to me whenever I mention it. You get upset. You're quick to claim you're not stupid... and I know you're not. But you can't tell me that you understand until you live it." Sometimes one measly cut, one infection was all it took to take even the strongest of warriors out. She could remember the faces of countless people who had died just because they didn't have the medicine, the food, the water. There was a side to this issue that wasn't being considered. Morgan had the perspective of a lady from Camelot. The kind of person who was capable of paying up when magic demanded things of her. There was an understanding that'd flashed between them, though, when she had given her those gloves. For that reason, she wasn't going to dismiss her entirely.

"Winter is coming and shit just keeps getting worse out here. The beasts are mutating. Multiplying. And all of those... those people... " Guinevere flinched when she considered the way they spilled from the belly of that oversized monster. The way they blamed her. She thought about Betty and the way she had to console Erica. Finally, she lifted her gaze from the ground. They narrowed with steely resolve. "Don't get me wrong. I... I'm not completely dismissing what you're saying about magic. I want to understand what's been happening to me." She gripped her bandaged wrists. "Underground... my blood grew flowers. Part of me still thinks it was a fucked up fever dream, honestly. But if it could help us..."

Guinevere shook her head, conflicted. Thinking of the dead, there were plenty of reasons why she should refuse to learn anything about magic. However, the potential was there. Potential to save everyone, if her blood somehow breathed life back into the earth. Maybe her inaction was what caused those voices to blame her back there? (Magic was also volatile. It could spiral out of control and take, take, take. One little mistake could cost countless other lives.) This went beyond just her own opinions and experiences with magic. A decision like this would no doubt change the trajectory of the lives of everyone in her gang. There was no way of looking forward in time, of seeing which one would take them down a safer path. Were the voices she'd been hearing trying to help her? Or were they leading her towards certain doom? In one of her adventure stories, inaction would no doubt be the boring path. The path of no results, of entertaining the same cycle. However, too much action could cause even greater catastrophes down the line.

Then again, learning about magic wasn't the same as using it. If they approached the subject carefully, with the delicacy it required, then...

"...Fine. I've got some conditions, though." Guinevere finally answered. "One? We don't tell anyone in camp. We keep these discussions private. This is mostly to avoid stirring 'em up in a panic. Plenty of women back there have lost people to unruly magic and to say they wouldn't be happy about it would be an understatement." Adrianne included. Guilt stirred in her gut at the concept of keeping this from her... but considering how her girlfriend already felt about Morgan as it was? For now, this was for the best. She would come to her with the information when the time was right. Distracting everyone in camp with a bombshell like this could easily play a role in getting them killed. "Two. I don't want to use any magic. At least not for now. I'm willing to learn what the fuck's going on with me and my, uh, magical infinity...? But I don't want anyone getting hurt in the process." That's what this was all about when it really came down to it. Magic was a mystery. It was powerful, dangerous. And she didn't want to be turned into a destructive weapon against herself or her friends. Still. She felt this was fair. She was compromising, wasn't she? "Do we have a deal?"
 
And a deal they had. Morgan didn't entirely agree with Guinevere's rationale, mind you-- seeing magic as a drain on resources instead of the most powerful resource was so wrong on so many levels that even bothering to count them all would have taken years off her life. Just, what? You might as well say that you preferred to fight with a toothpick instead of reaching for the sword! Still, it was something. Something in a world where she had expected nothing at all, aside from maybe a dagger in her back. (And, to be quite honest? Morgan did admire Guinevere for being able to revise her opinion like that, just a little bit. Far too often, people wore thoughts like they did jewels-- precious jewels that they'd inherited from their grandmother, it felt like. In their heads, tearing them off was thus tantamount to a horrific betrayal. Seeing that the other woman changed her stance when new facts revealed themselves, though? That earned her a respect far, far greater than any amount of sword swinging ever could. N-not that that meant anything, though! The sorceress just wasn't as childish as to not acknowledge that even Guinevere Leodegrance could have good traits. Right. Nothing deep to see here!)

Once again, they slipped into a simple routine. 'Simple' didn't necessarily mean 'easy', though-- their mornings were devoted to physical trainings, while their nights revolved around forcing Guinevere to stretch her mind. And, to be quite frank? The latter was somehow harder! (During the many, many conversations they'd had, Morgan had come to the conclusion that she must have been, in fact, descended from a bull. Speaking from the evolutionary standpoint, there was mo other reason for her to be this stubborn! 'Magic is dangerous,' 'magic is evil,' 'magic is the root of all problems,' blah blah blah. You know, the usual pseudo-arguments. At this point, the sorceress half-expected for Guinevere to claim that magic had stolen her breakfast, but they hadn't quite reached that low yet. ...also, was it bad that she caught herself almost enjoying the sessions? The intellectual stimulation was nice, especially after spending the whole day pushing herself to her limit. It, uh, had to do with the change of pace! Her simply liking to spend time with Guinevere Leodegrance was a thought too absurd for her to even consider.)

As the strength of her arms grew, the other women gradually stopped eyeing her as something nasty that had gotten stuck to the sole of their shoe. The transformation was gradual, and Morgan hadn't exactly noticed when it had started, but the results... the results were startling. Odd, in a way she knew not how to describe. (At least Adrianne had the decency to stick to her usual ways and tried to murder her with her glare every time their paths crossed. What? Certainties were important, even if they revolved around being hated. That was Morgan's default position, after all, and so there were few secrets left to be decoded-- the mechanisms of hatred were familiar to her, as well as the interactions that flowed from it. In that bitter shroud, she felt at home. Ironic, wasn't it? That it was Adrianne who had gifted her that feeling, whether she liked it or not. Adrianne, with her annoying, nasal voice and all the charisma of a wet kitchen rag. Adrianne, who didn't deserve a second of Guinevere's atten... uh, what?)

It should have been obvious, to Morgan most of all, that the peaceful days would not last. How could they? The wastes had a will of their own-- like a predator, they backed you into a corner, and struck when you couldn't defend yourself. When you were weak, isolated, desperate. That you couldn't see what they were doing... why, you only had your own lack of insight to blame.

It happened the first time Morgan was allowed to scout with a group. Annoyingly enough, the group happened to contain Adrianne as well-- just like a disgusting pimple, the woman always appeared whenever Morgan desired her the least. Ugh! What was one to do for Adrianne-free experience? Murder her with her own hands? (An exaggerated response, the sorceress had to admit, but that didn't mean she wasn't about to spend a few minutes in a fantasy land where this could, indeed, be reality.)

"Hey, Morgan," Penny grabbed her by the shoulder. "What is that?"

"What is what?" Morgan raised her head, only to discover that asking that question was rather pointless. See, given that the sky was suddenly drowning in crimson, any speculations regarding what Penny might have been curious about struck her as foolish. And, on the horizon? On the horizon, there was a moon, pale and terrible, drinking from that very sky. Recognition flashed through her mind then, illuminating everything like lightning.

"I invite you to challenge me, where the blood moon meets the horizon," she muttered under her breath. "Guinevere, this must be..."

"Ah, so the false queen and her harlot have come. Sooner than I expected you to, too." Contempt was oozing from that voice, wet and sticky, and involuntarily, Morgan shivered. "Why won't you visit me in my lake, hm? In the proper arena? Do I have to hunt you like a pair of scared rabbits, or will you face your death with dignity? Although, ha, I doubt you even know what that means. Not when it can only be found in service. In the grand purpose that you have defied." There was a clicking sound, like a thousand of tiny legs racing across the blackboard, and instinctively, Morgan spun around to face the blonde woman. "Guinevere! Can you hear it? Can you see a lake?"

Regardless of whether she could or couldn't, the earth grumbled. From its bowels, a sword emerged-- the exact replica of the Excalibur sleeping in her companion's chest, the sorceress did not fail to note. The catch? It was bleeding. Oh, it was, it was! Crimson was pouring from the hilt, in these wild, violent spurts, and... and Guinevere's own veins opened at the sight of that. Oh, gods.
 
Lately, Guinevere's mind had been stretched out like a rubber band that was on the verge of snapping. Between the responsibilities which already kept her busy enough as it was, squeezing in lessons about magic of all things brought her to a limit where there was no longer time for her to think about anything but the different precautions and actions she could take to make the winter kinder on her girls this year. (...That was what she was doing it all for. For them. Even if keeping them-- Adrianne-- in the dark did twist her stomach up in knots, she wanted to make sure she understood more about what was happening to her before she made any promises or got anyone's hopes up. That was fair, wasn't it? ...Who knew if her blood could really bring the world back to life that way? It just seemed way too strange to be true. And a quieter fear also whispered at the back of her mind on occasion... what happened if they found out about that feature at a time when things were particularly desperate? What happened if someone got the wrong idea and... a violent red flashed before her eyes and she pressed the heels of her palms to them to make it stop. No! No one would do that to her. She trusted her gang with her life. But... when times got tough? If they got tough enough, there was always a possibility. Hard choices had to be made to ensure you survived in a world like this, to a point where she wouldn't even blame them for trying to cut her open in a last-resort scenario. It was more than just that, too. If word were to get out about the supposed 'effects' of her blood? There was no telling what bastards might start hunting them down. The kinds who would gladly cut her open to test the theory.) Meanwhile, Morgan would spend the lessons telling her to 'clear her mind' if the spirits came knocking. Pfft! She'd tried-- she did-- and failed miserably. There was too damned much to worry about these days. How was she supposed to 'clear her mind' in a situation like this?

"...Gwen?" Adrianne's voice cut through her thoughts at last. She squeezed her hand when she looked at her and sighed. "Finally. You know that's the fourth time I had to call you to get your attention? You've been so distracted lately. I don't think you've been getting enough sleep..." She frowned, pinching her eyes indicatively at the dark circles under her eyes. "It's okay to take a day off, you know. I know you're concerned about what happened to Betty and the pretentious newbie over there. But she's... making progress." She practically growled the words as if she had to pull teeth to say them... and were punctuated with an eye roll. (Still. It was progress on Adrianne's own part to see that, wasn't it?) "My point is that you're going to get yourself killed if you don't get some fucking sleep. We won't let things fall apart while you rest, Gwen. We've got you."

Guinevere trusted Adrianne. She trusted her gang. (Betty got snatched while she'd been sleeping, though. The memory of her hanging there, embedded in a monster's flesh was still emblazoned on her mind. What a fucking cruel fate. No one-- no one deserved that. Least of all one of her own. She failed her, failed her, failed--) "I know..."

"Do you?" Adrianne pressed. Guinevere set her eyes ahead to avoid looking right at her. Not now. She didn't want to fight. Mentally, she couldn't stretch her mind in that direction when it already took on the shape equivalent of a cat's cradle. It was too much. But even then, the universe still discovered more ways to pile things on her conscience... when the sky changed up on them. It wasn't sunrise or sunset and yet it was deepening into the crimson red of blood freshly shed. Shit's sake. Really had to thank her brain for dredging up that comparison.

"What the fuck?" Guinevere rushed ahead of Adrianne and squinted at the horizon before whirling around to see the moon that had captured Morgan and Penny's attention. She heard only a figment of Morgan's words, something about a blood moon? Everything had blurred together lately, but that detail did sound vaguely familiar to her...

That was when the connection became apparent, as a similarly familiar voice taunted them. (Each word was a knife stabbed straight into her brain... probing at a profoundly resentful part of her that slumbered from within. The knight had no idea what he was talking about. Arrogant, pigheaded, and vapid. Just like his false king. And how dare he call her a harlot? How dare--) Before Guinevere could process what Morgan was saying to her, a sword resembling Excalibur ascended from the earth. And that comparison she'd made before? Frighteningly relevant, apparently, when the sword itself began to bleed. When she began to bleed as well, like its mirror image.

False queen, false, false, false. (Failure.) Face your death! (But I already have. So, so many times.) The grand purpose you have defied. (I tried. I'm still trying. I couldn't save them back then. How long will I repeat these mistakes? How many times will I fail them all? How many times will I fail her?)

Guinevere tremblingly raised her arms, watching with horror as the thin rivulets of blood streamed down her arms and dripped freely from her fingertips. It dot, dot, dotted the scorched earth around her boots, painting roses over the supposedly barren earth. Then? Then it raised them to life from the dead earth around her. Deep red roses unfurled in a bed of grass where her blood was shed. The blood on her arms, the flowers and grass sprouting in a circle around her, everything blurred in her vision to the point where she questioned whether it was a hallucination or her reality. Why was this happening!? Why now? She dropped to her knees, wrapping her bloodied arms around herself. Every nerve in her body was torched, it was like she was being torn open from the inside out. Her every breath came out in pained, panicked shakes. The secret was unburied, right in front of their eyes. What would they do with her, now that they knew?

Anyone who was paying attention, anyone who could see them, would notice a network of red threads connecting Guinevere's position to the lake. Gradually, it was turning the water a crimson red that matched the skies overhead.

"Wh-- what's happening!? Guinevere!" Adrianne's voice cracked like a whip, sounding as horrified as she felt. She lunged for her and-- no!

"No, stay back! Stay away from me!" Guinevere screamed. (Everyone who comes near me gets hurt. Keep them all away. Keep them all safe.) Thorny vines emerged from the earth, whipped around her as if in a state of distress. In her desperation to be left alone, one of the vines slashed forward and swept Adrianne away as if she were a measly little rag doll. Another swept at Penny, who had also tried to breach her circle. Wait. No, no, no. That-- that wasn't supposed to-- fuck! The thorns cut them, she knew. Made them bleed. Were they okay? Were they dead? She threw them backward, made them bleed. (My fault. It's all my fault.) Her eyes emptied of any emotion whatsoever and she clawed her bloodied hands against the sides of her head as if she could physically tear the voices out. "No." She barely whispered the word through the frightened rattles her breaths and gasps had become, heartbroken. The vines coiled themselves around her and she wasn't sure whether they were there to protect herself or to protect the others from her. (Already hurt them. I already--) The vines piled on top of each other, the thorns growing longer and sharper yet, weaving into a tall, unbreakable fortress around her.

'Only to be expected of the false queen. She's a coward who only knows how to hide herself away. A shame, truly. With the king's guidance, she could have been something special.' The knight's voice swept around Morgan, undercut with laughter. Then it steeled into something accusatory. 'And to think you forsook your kingdom-- your humanity-- for her and her witchcraft? What were you thinking?'
 
Magic, Morgan knew, was a sword-- a sword without a hilt, a sword without a shield, a sword without all safeguards. Want to grasp it? By all means, but know that there wasn't any safe way to do so. No, not truly. You could reduce the risk, just like you could choose not to hide under the tallest tree in the middle of a storm, but, ultimately? Ultimately, you couldn't tame the lightning. People just... lied to themselves that they could, to soothe the frightened little mouses dwelling in their hearts. Their true selves, in other words. And, by the gods, had that worked! Wearing the mask of fearless lions, they had crawled to the top of the world-- shoved everyone and everything else aside, in order to claim what they perceived as their birthright. Their destiny, Arthur would have said. With their hands, they'd carved their own likeness into the earth's abused flesh. Sometimes, though... sometimes the ground underneath their feet shook, and they were forced to look downwards. Downwards, into the endless abyss, from which ancient monsters were screaming their names! And then, only then, did they realize just how small the piece of world they owned was. That they had been balancing on one leg, with their eyes closed. Such foolish survival mechanisms that they possessed, right?

That was what Morgan le Fey was forced to acknowledge now, more or less. That, and the weight of her own hubris pressing against her chest, against her throat, against her everything, really, when she had to admit that she understood fuck all about this. (Blood. The alpha and omega of it all, much like the mythical Ouroboros devouring his own tail. Where did he begin and where did he end? The puzzle had existed for centuries, and when they'd found it, the cycle had already been in full swing, never-ending, but also never really beginning. A true loop. How was she to solve a mystery when it wasn't at all obvious which questions to ask? And, the thing was, this was no time to be dwelling in her own head, either! Not when... not when all of this was happening. Not when Guinevere was being taken, her body worn like a sleeve. Worn by something that was and wasn't--)

"What the hell?" Penny shouted, clearly incredulous. "Are those... flowers?"

Oh. Oh, damn it. No, no, no! Morgan had almost forgotten about the gang's presence, but it was safe to say that they hadn't forgotten about it, and that their eyes worked. Their deductive abilities did as well, to an extent. To a very limited extent, when it came to some of them.

"What did you do to Gwen, witch?!" another gang member, Camille, grabbed her by the shoulder. (Painfully, her nails dug into her flesh, but Morgan barely felt it. Something was knocking on the gates of her consciousness, knocking and demanding to be let in, but no! She couldn't let it take what it wanted. Not now, not ever. Especially not when Guinevere...) "Explain yourself, now. We took you in when you were just a victim of your own fucking incompetence, and this is how you repay us?"

With greater strength than she expected from herself, Morgan shoved her away. "Hands off," she hissed. "Before I make you. Do you ever use that lump of meat inside your skull for thinking? Because this is obviously not me!" Yes, Morgan understood just how convenient it must have been-- to always have someone to point your finger at, no matter what. A designated scapegoat, made to bear the scars that you deserved. The main issue with that concept, though? That it didn't solve the problem! "Touch me again and I swear to all the gods, both known and unknown, that you won't have anything to try that with the next time around."

(Pain. So much pain, echoing throughout the centuries. Morgan could feel it stretching the time, reversing the causality itself-- somehow, it had torn the fabric of reality to pathetic shreds, and the tatters were now falling on their heads. Everything around them had descended into chaos, with the women screaming, and the parched soil drinking the blood with big, starved gulps, but Morgan... well, Morgan felt strangely disconnected from it all. As if none of it was real. Maybe it was simply too real, though? The first taste of what the world was truly like, under the faint veneer of normalcy. What sights would it offer her if she stripped the peel off further? And did the sorceress have any right to do that?)

The knight's voice cut through her mind like a sword, and Morgan winced. 'The king's guidance? I hope you don't mean my beloved brother, who couldn't lead his way out of a paper bag. I hope that, as a good little bootlicker, you followed his lead and found some nice grave to make your home.' Just, how dared he?! To call Guinevere a coward was a lie, lie, lie, and, as someone who cared greatly for the accuracy of her insults, Morgan wouldn't stand for this. The woman was rash and brazen, yes, but not at all faint-hearted! ...right. She was just correcting a factual mistake here, not getting angry on her behalf or anything. That was all it was. The one good thing about his little spiel, though? The lethargy was gone. Whatever magic had chained her mind, it rusted in an instant, finally allowing her to... to think. To spread her wings. With her eyes, she looked, truly looked at Guinevere's thorny cocoon, and... Gods. Is that what it is? It had to be, because, unlike people, patterns did not lie. They couldn't. The handwriting was too similar for this to be a coincidence, wasn't it? The handwriting that could be traced back to Guinevere herself. Oh. That was exactly what happened when you insisted on floundering in the darkness instead of lighting a candle!

"Don't get any closer!" Morgan shouted, her voice ringing with the authority that she very much did not have. Not here in the wastes, anyway. Still, being a lady from Camelot? Commands spilled naturally from her lips, and many of the women indeed froze mid-movement. "I'll take care of it. Tend to the wounded ones in the meantime if you want to be useful."

The sorceress walked forward, locking her fears away. The vines did lash out against her, covering her in a thousand small cuts, but they might as well have been just mosquito bites for all the attention she gave them. It did hurt, though what didn't? All miracles were paid for in blood, in one way or another... and at least the spirits accompanying her absorbed the worst of the damage. (What hurt even more, however, was seeing Guinevere like that-- her pride broken, her spirit wounded. For, uh, reasons? And, no, the sorceress had zero obligations to examine them!)

"Guinevere. Guinevere, can you hear me?" Morgan's voice was a thunder, carried across vast distances-- the spirits she'd invited helped to make it so, in hopes that it would pierce through the other woman's defenses as well. "You are doing this. Focus. Remember my lessons? Empty your head, let go of your fears, and just be. Magic is like... like a dog. It won't bite you when it senses that you aren't afraid to handle it. I am here for you, so get that through your thick skull before I end you myself!" Well, so much for keeping their little meetings secret. Regardless, Morgan figured they could deal with the fallout of that when Guinevere wasn't self-destructing...? Ugh, what a mess.
 
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Thorny vines crisscrossed over Guinevere's blurring vision, submerging her in total darkness. (Wasn't it for the best? For her to embrace the endless abyss without fighting it, to allow the earth to reclaim her and take her away? Before anyone else got hurt, everyone would be better off if she just...) She clamped her eyes shut tight and willed herself to disappear within the dangerous cocoon she wove around herself. A danger to those outside and to herself within as the world itself supped on her blood like a starved vampire. Was this what Morgan meant when she said the sword would kill her one day? Has that day finally come? (It was the sword in her chest that appeared before them, dripping blood just as her arms had. The Excalibur. The ethereal magical sword... that was somehow connected to that pigheaded king, his sister and Camelot. It was there, somehow, existing in her mind behind a deep fog. She got the sense that if she went looking for it she might find it. And yet something told her that maybe she was better off turning around and never looking back. Whatever lurked in the fog was sinister... it hungered for her blood.) Did that matter, though, if something else had sunken its teeth into her first? She was giving blood whether she liked it or not. (Helpless to stop it. Why did she know this feeling all too well? Her body has been used, over and over, like a tool and... and even if she fought, it wasn't enough. She was surrounded by people but no one could hear her screaming. No one, no one, no one--!)

(You have to face it if you want to control it.)

(How much longer will you stay in the dark?)

Guinevere was no coward. She faced many monsters throughout her lifetime. Mecha beasts and inner demons alike-- which she had gathered the courage to stand up against and triumph over. While she didn't win every time, she had survived. She had gotten as far as she has thus far by holding her chin high and fighting all of her own damned battles. But she's quite confident that she's never faced anything quite like this before. It was spontaneous, unprompted, frightening in its mystery and absurdity. Painful. Confusing. Breathtaking. (...Or maybe she had faced this before? Maybe she had faced it and failed. Over and over again to the point where her strength to try again had been whittled down to nothing. The prophecy was written in blood-- her own damned blood-- determining that she was destined to fail. Destiny was an unbreakable mold. She had already learned that lesson, hadn't she? Why hold onto anything that she was going to lose, when the pain of losing that which she cherished most had broken her time and time again?) She screamed again. This time she actually made a sound, anguished and tearing out of her throat. (She knew the figure that approached her intimately and yet it was also a stranger. A stranger that she wanted to lock out and never look in the eyes again.)

(Empty her head...? How could Guinevere empty her head when it was full, full, full? Full of thoughts-- and many of which seemed to come at her from the shadows, from other lifetimes.)

Vines slithered around Guinevere at the heart of the cocoon, holding her upright when all she wanted was to collapse and close her eyes to sleep. (Respite. She only wanted a moment of rest. But even that was far too much to ask for.) Flowers continued to flourish and spread all around, beautiful and sinister, indicative of just how much of her blood they already drank. When Morgan passed through the barrier she built up, the scenery within the thorny prison flickered between this present and a scene of another Guinevere, strung up to a pyre. One that was held still by ropes instead of vines and her own fear. She wept freely. (Wasn't it sort of familiar? A scene they might have seen before, in a dream?)

"Morgan? No. My mind plays tricks on me again... for you are dead. He killed you." The past Guinevere spoke first. Then she glitched, the present Guinevere taking her place and finishing the sentence. "You die every time. And it's all my fault! I should have never... I should have never come back..." Tears streamed faster down her face, as if they were in a hurry to water the flowers growing all around them. She fought against the vines and they tore deeper into her skin. "I wasn't supposed to come back. This wasn't supposed to happen again! I made a deal!"

(A deal? What deal? Somehow, Guinevere felt it more so than she knew it to be true. Fuck. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to be there anymore. While she didn't understand why, it seemed clear to her the moment the thorns struck Adrianne, and Penny, and all the others... when they cut against Morgan's skin. This magic was too volatile for any one person to hold alone. It needed to be put to rest, once and for all. Otherwise she would become a danger to everyone.)

'I am here for you, so get that through your thick skull before I end you myself!'

Guinevere's eyes flickered with recognition behind her tears for an instant and everything froze for the span of a heartbeat. (She's dead-- she's not-- she's never coming back-- she's right there!) The tug of war between her thoughts allowed the storm to overpowered everything, though, pressing her down beneath mighty winds. It was too much.

...But the knight had offered Guinevere an out. To face her death with dignity, along with something about her 'purpose'. Whatever was happening now, she had to see this through... regardless if it ended with her death or not. "Fine. I'll face you. That's what you want, right?" With a single word, the vines slipped away. (The flowers, the grass, it remained and swayed in the wind around her.) "...That's the only way to make it stop." She walked past Morgan, unwilling to examine the powerful emotions that swelled in her chest when she saw her face or heard her name. She approached the bleeding Excalibur and took it into her hands before approaching the lake. Staring at her reflection, it was apparent that her tears had dried and her eyes were vacant. Was it her wounded pride? Or a side effect of the magic? She had no idea what was real anymore. (I just need to make it stop.) "I'm going in."

Without waiting to see whether or not Morgan intended to go with her, Guinevere dove into the lake.
 
Dead? Morgan le Fey was no stranger to bizarre accusations, but among them all, this one certainly took the cake. What was this, some kind of joke? (The punchline cut through her like a hot knife through butter, causing her to feel… well, something. Something that she wasn’t able to describe, even if she wanted to. That something expanded in her chest, akin to a balloon filled with poisonous gas, and, for a moment, the sorceress wasn’t able to breathe. ‘He killed you,’ she said. And, strangely enough? Morgan knew it to be right. She just did, with the same kind of certainty that she knew her heart had to beat if she were to survive. There had been a well, and a scream frozen on her lips, and--) “Get a grip,” she recommended to the other woman instead, holding onto the last pieces of her sanity. (Just a dream. It had to be! Or maybe this place itself was toying with her mind-- dredging up hidden fears, just like a child might pick out raisins from their pudding. What was it, anyway? A disturbance zone? If so, Morgan le Fey had never encountered anything even remotely similar before! You know, it would have been rather fascinating from the scientific point of view, if not for the fact that it was terrifying instead. They’re mutating, the sorceress realized. Maybe they, too, are organisms, and not mindless phenomena.) “If I’m dead, then corpses have been updated with some neat new functions I wasn’t aware of. Talking, for one.” …what? Sarcasm may not have been the kindest way to approach this, but Morgan le Fey wasn’t exactly famous for being kind. Besides, what did kindness accomplish? There was a reason why delusional patients were slapped, instead of being offered a cup of hot cocoa and a polite discussion on the benefits of sanity! …and, honestly? Morgan was beginning to flirt with the idea.

“Yes, you did make a deal,” the sorceress furrowed her brow. “A deal where you promised to teach me how to fight. Remember that? And if it turns out that Guinevere Leodegrance goes back on her word, I will never respect you. Never!” Because, obviously, a rugged rebel from the wastelands cared so much about what a prissy lady from Camelot had to say. Wasn’t that what she thought of her? What everyone did? What a monochrome, binary way of thinking-- Camelot good, wastelands bad. (Maybe if you were happy to sell your dignity for a full stomach, or some pretty fabrics. To many, that may have looked like a good deal, but Morgan le Fey had her doubts. Doubts that had been bought with blood.) “I am not letting you go anywhere until you teach me how to beat you. Only then will I acknowledge that it can be remotely useful. Do you hear me, Guinevere?!” If she did, then she didn’t care, and the sorceress genuinely felt like an idiot for even daring to assume that she would. (The patterns spoke clearly, didn’t they? In the hierarchy of their camp, Guinevere came first-- Guinevere, then Adrianne, then Emily, afterwards literally everyone else, random rocks, and then, the last of the last, her. The unwanted reminder that a safe haven had once existed, and they’d been denied. Don’t get her wrong, Morgan did understand that, but it stung. It really, really did. Back in Camelot, she’d been able to use Arthur as an excuse, though… well, with his royal corpse eating the not-so-royal dirt, it was hard for her to blame him here. This was on her, and probably always had been.)

“Fuck,” Morgan muttered under her breath. Walk right into the enemy’s trap, why don’t you? Again, the sorceress was no Sun Tzu, but she kind of assumed that, if a foe told you what they wanted, then maybe you should weigh your options and not just mindlessly do it. That was just her, though. “Stay back!” she shouted at Guinevere’s women, before any of them could get the grand idea to interfere. “I will…” Do what? Stop her? Clearly not. Even in her haze, Guinevere had a mind of her own, and Morgan had a snowball in hell’s chance to get through to her. Especially now, now that she was walking towards that cursed lake--

Oh, gods. Before the sorceress could even register what it was that she was doing, her legs moved on her own. (They carried her towards the lake as well, she realized. The lake, in which they couldn’t breathe. A brilliant observation, huh? Humans, indeed, weren’t able to get their precious oxygen out of the lake in the same way fish could! That they didn’t hand out Nobel prizes anymore surely was the only thing keeping the collective male ego alive, because Morgan would have snatched them all. …still, still she wasn’t afraid, though. ‘You don’t have to, don’t have to, don’t have to,’ something whispered in her ear, and for some reason, she found it difficult not to believe it.)

The icy lake embraced them, as if they were its long-lost daughters. Morgan gasped for air, expecting her lungs to fill with water, but… it didn’t happen? Alright. Alright, why not. Some physical laws were being violated here, but, considering that it worked in her advantage, the sorceress wasn’t going to get too pedantic here. “Guinevere?” she asked, mostly to test just how well voice was being carried there. Pretty well, was her answer-- she could hear herself easily, as if they’d been walking through a sunlit meadow and not, you know, drowning. “Guinevere, why did you…?”

‘Ah, so the false queen comes,’ the knight chuckled. (He was nowhere and everywhere at once, just like air in the atmosphere. If the voice was coming from any specific direction at all, Morgan’s ears couldn’t discern it. Also, was it just her, or was the water getting… warmer? Something spherical was shining at the bottom, and with each pulse it sent out, the lake itself seemed to shiver.)

‘The false queen, with her false sword. Pathetic! Especially since it’s not going to work here, where deceivers are struck down. The Knights of the Round table embody the value of truth, and with the truth, this fight shall be fought. Tell me: who are you, really?’
 
"I'm Guinevere Leodegrance." Guinevere bit out her reply without stuttering, clutching the hilt so tightly that her knuckles whitened. Maybe that answer was too obvious, yeah, but no one could tell her she wasn't straightforward about it. She was just giving a simple answer to a very simple question, here. (And so fucking what if that question really wasn't quite so simple if you looked at it with a critical eye? She didn't owe this disembodied asshole a detailed assessment of who she thought she was as a person or anything like that. There were only a specific set of people who got the privilege of knowing her and truly knowing her. This supposed knight hadn't come even remotely close to earning that privilege yet. In fact, she was certain that he never would. Whatever he had done by summoning the very sword she had held in her hands had kickstarted this whole mess. It set whatever mysterious trigger was hiding in her off, caused her to lash out and hurt-- hurt-- hurt--) Upon entering the lake, feeling the cold bite down to the marrow of her bones, she'd defensively turned herself to steel. Because she needed to be more than she was if she was going to keep everyone safe. Ignoring this didn't seem to be the way to go, despite all of those pleas she'd heard to to stop her. Her gang. Morgan. (Morgan, whose every syllable touched her heart like the sharpened point of a blade, threatening to pierce inside.) If she continually backed down from this fight, it would continue to creep up and haunt her over and over again. (That's how it was with the beasts. If she didn't kill them 'till they were dead, they were liable to come back and bite her in the ass when she least expected it.) While she didn't understand what the fuck was going on with her blood, she knew herself enough to know what she lived for. And that answer was as simple as her own name. It was for her friends-- her family-- the people that she'd picked up her sword to protect. "...Who the fuck are you?"

'...So vulgar! I suppose it is to be expected of a creature such as yourself.' The knight taunted with his pompous voice. Where the fuck does this guy get off, calling her a 'creature'? Oh, she'd show him a creature all right! Guinevere wished he had a neck she could strangle, but all she could see was that pulsing orb of light. A spirit, maybe? Come to think of it, it was kind of like Morgan's. Although hers was a warm, beautiful gold where the orb in the lake was a cold, heartless gray. Like steel. Ugh. None of this made any sense. 'You should have taught her better, lady Morgan! That was your role... and it would appear you have failed in that. That is what you both are in truth. Failures. For those who would oppose the king are cursed to fail.'

"Blah, blah, blah." Guinevere mocked. (She could just imagine Morgan snarking with a 'yes, very mature' in the back of her mind, but that didn't matter. Who cared about maturity at a time like this? Her aim was to disrespect this guy for disrespecting her... so that's exactly what she set out to do.) Anyway, she was entirely too fed up with all this false queen nonsense. "In case you didn't get the memo, I spat on your king's proposal. I'm no queen and I don't fancy to be one. I know that much. So quit it with your false queen bullshit."

'Those who would reject the king's proposals are cursed to fail.' The knight recites, as if he's got this sentiment going on a loop. Oh boy. This would be an endless verbal spar if something didn't change soon. The coward was hiding, she just knew it. Probably knew deep down that she'd kick his ass. She'd kick it all the way into the fucking stratosphere! And he was going to fail just like Arthur failed, because that's what she did all with the spineless losers who tried to prey on her. Magic might've been interwoven into this conflict where it was absent in the past... but in a sense, it wasn't all that different. She still intended to fight. That hadn't changed. That wouldn't change. Because that was who Guinevere Leodegrance was!

"Yeah? Well king asshole has already failed! Camelot is a big pile of dust." Guinevere tilted her head and considered everything Morgan said about her brother's motives in seeking her out specifically. Then there was all that nonsense he had spouted about prosperity, and the fact that apparently her blood worked as miracle fertilizer for the dead earth. (That was the very aspect of her identity that was a mystery to her. And yeah, deep down? Deep down, that scared the hell out of her.) "You ever think that maybe he was doomed to fail without me-- the so-called false queen? 'Cause that's exactly what happened. Can't say I'm particularly sorry for it, though. The guy was a prick who couldn't take no for an answer. The worst kind of scum--"

'Silence!' The knight cried. (Guinevere smirked at that. It was obvious from the strain his tone that she touched a nerve there and gods damn was that satisfying.) 'I will not hear of this slander.'

"Aw. Does the truth offend you? And here I thought that you... what? 'Embodied the value of truth?'" Guinevere batted her eyes innocently before squinting them to slits. "Seems to me like you embody the value of bullshit! Except there's no value in it as far as I can tell."

Rather than spit more words back out at her, the knight then shot a lightning blast of energy towards Guinevere. "Ouch!" It sliced through her arm, leaving a cut that... glowed the same dull gray as the orb she theorized was a 'spirit'. Well, uh... that hurt! It was weird. And mysterious. And it was really starting to freak her the fuck out. (And hopefully it's not poisonous or anything like that. Heh... ah, shit!) She pointed the sword towards the orb, offended. "Hey!"

Then Guinevere finally snapped her attention to Morgan. Naturally. She knew about all of this magic stuff! "Morgan, he's pickin' a fight with me! How do I kick this guy's ass?"
 
Admittedly, there were certain things that Morgan le Fey did miss about Camelot. Sleeping in a featherbed every night wasn't half-bad, nor was she going to complain about getting to eat more than just half-moldy potatoes and the occasional starved rabbit. The castle library, too, had been a jewel-- a true well of wisdom, with arcane knowledge spilling from the aged pages. The list of the things that she didn't miss, though? That one was longer than all of Arthur's obnoxious titles combined, and the presence of pompous bastards like the resident knight competed for the top spot! The Knights of the Round Table? The name did spark some sort of recognition, even if the sorceress had to reach deeper within her own memory to uncover what, exactly, hid behind that fancy title. (Ah, of course. Of course! One of Arthur's beloved little projects. The term 'project' was to be used loosely here, mind you-- this was a project in the same way a brat tearing off a moth's wings to see what would happen was, essentially. Mere cruelty, masquerading as something greater than itself. Speaking of the nature of that particular project, though...)

"So, let me get this straight," Morgan furrowed her brow. "You are one of the men that Arthur used as his guinea pigs years ago, and somehow find the audacity to be proud about it? I was always wondering whether your sense of self was surgically removed, but I had no idea your brain was gone as well. My deepest condolences."

'Shut your dirty mouth, witch!' the knight screamed. 'The likes of you will never, ever understand the honor that is to be found in service. I pity you, for you were born without a soul." Indeed, that was a classic! Soulless, evil, rotten-- all adjectives that had accompanied her throughout her entire life, like faithful friends. The most faithful friends she had ever had, all things considered. Depressing, huh? This wasn't the time to be wallowing in pity, though. Yes, yes, Arthur's ridiculous quests were usually just that, but... well, didn't this prove that he'd struck the gold this time? That, as he'd swung around blindly, he'd managed to hit the jackpot? ...or something, at the very least. Something sinister. What was it that he'd been trying to accomplish? All the failed plans leaked into one another in Morgan's mind, and she couldn't tell them apart, couldn't, couldn't! (The threads just looked similar, all of them tainted by failure. They were tangled up in one giant ball of yarn, too, and really, who had the time to look for the loose ends? Not her.) Think, she chastised herself. Use that lump of meat in your head while he's still too busy trying to one-up Guinevere. Why would Arthur send his men to the bottom of the lake? Assuming, of course, that that was meant to happen. The whole thing could have easily been one of those 'oopsie' incidents-- "oopsie, I forgot I locked you in that tower for a month," "oopsie, I didn't mean to hit you that hard," "oopsie, I didn't know that you would die." ...die? Alright, that may have been her imagination going a little too far, but the general pattern wasn't wrong. For all Morgan knew, her beloved brother might have genuinely just asked that guy to test out whether the water was warm enough for bathing, and then watched him sink in his armor with an incredulous 'huh.' Giving him the benefit of doubt here, though... Why 'false queen'? Why the knight, and why the lake? They were pieces of a puzzle, Morgan felt, and putting them together--

--putting them together was impossible, because Guinevere Leodegrance had all the patience of a starved dog. Just, ugh! Had it not been enough that she'd jumped into the lake, as if she thought there was candy to be found at the bottom? Candy and not, you know, swift death? No, she also had to do all that, without even considering her own safety for a moment. (By the way, Morgan le Fey wasn't worried about her. She was just... uh, angry? Because, by the virtue of slaying Arthur, Guinevere's life was hers to take! Not anyone else's, and least of all this broken record of a knight's. Right. Morgan just couldn't wait to make her pay for stealing the sweet, sweet prize, and that was why her heart fluttered in panic upon... upon seeing all that. Upon the energy crackling like a whip, and filling her with dread. Why did this feel so familiar, anyway? Like a snippet of a conversation she'd overheard?)

Picking a fight with her? Gods, I can't believe she's somehow still alive. What demon did she bribe to even reach the threshold of adulthood? The sorceress wanted to know, mostly because the entity must have been powerful enough to tear the world asunder. These days, that almost seemed like the logical course of action to take! "Why, how wise of you to consult this with me," Morgan rolled her eyes, trying her hardest to suppress the rising panic. That spirit thing, was it...? "A tip for the next time, though-- maybe try asking me about gravity before you throw yourself off a cliff. That might help." Could she be trying to hide the fact that she didn't actually know what was going on? Nooo, Morgan le Fey would never! (And besides, it wasn't like 'not knowing' was the final state. There was such a thing as 'research', and once it was concluded? Why, the end result was that you learned things you previously hadn't been aware of! Groundbreaking.)

'There won't be any next time for the false queen,' the knight laughed. 'You see, I wasn't lying when I said I embodied the value of truth. And now... now I will show her her truth, after all these years. Behold!'

So, the grey thing? The pulses became more frequent, more eager, and then the shiny surface cracked, like an egg that had been left in boiling water for far, far too long. The pieces of the broken shell began rising, along with the streams, but, no, that wasn't what Morgan was paying attention to. Guinevere was! The other Guinevere, that was. The one that crawled from the center of the orb, dressed in a white wedding dress. What the...?

"Foolish girl," she spat out. "How could you?! Murdering your own husband brings you the worst karma, I'm telling you. With your selfishness, you brought destruction to the millions. But you know that already, don't you? After what you did to your friends. I'm thinking I ought to take your place before you can do even more damage!" Swords, the exact copies of the Excalibur, began cropping up all over the bottom, like the spikes of a hedgehog. They shone with the light of the stars, and--

Instinctively, without realizing it, the sorceress grabbed the real Guinevere's hand. "She's a spirit," Morgan murmured. "A spirit that is bound to you. Can you see?" And, indeed! If Guinevere looked down at her chest, she could spot a shimmering thread that was leading to the other woman-- but, interestingly, to the asshole knight as well. Hmm. "Cut it. I... I can't do that for you." Except that Guinevere couldn't, either! There were substances that couldn't be cut with steel, and she had refused to train with the one thing that could. With magic, that was. Aargh! (Normally, Morgan would have killed for an opportunity to throw an 'I told you so' in her face, but she wasn't too happy about it now. Just, who would have guessed they'd have to deal with magic this advanced? With spirit bonds, only ever breakable by one who shared their essence? Wait! If the double shares it, then she should be able to cut it as well. How to get her to do it, though? Because something told her that asking nicely wouldn't do! ...the other option, of course, was to get Guinevere really angry. Magic was kind of like scales-- emptying your head was the controlled, ideal way to do it, but if all you needed was hellfire... well, you might as well douse yourself in gasoline.)

A plan hatched in Morgan's head, and she was about 99% sure that it was not a good idea. The thing she was 100% sure about, though? That there was no time to think of alternatives. Oh, joy.

"You know what?" the sorceress scoffed, grabbing one of the Excalibur's copies in the process. "I'll do it myself. You stand back and watch, Guinevere Leodegrance."

...was she hoping for Guinevere to do the exact opposite of that? Yes. Yes, absolutely! Because both the double and the knight were watching her with an interest she didn't appreciate. The fact that they each grabbed a pair of swords didn't fill her with confidence, either.

The knight in particular gave her a sharp, sharp smile. "You dare to challenge us, witch? These swords reveal the truth, though. With every single strike! Finally, you will see what you are." Before Morgan could even grasp what was being said, the other Guinevere lunged at her, and then-- then their blades clashed. (The sound was overwhelming, like the shattering of the world. And, after that? Morgan found herself tied to a pyre, with flames licking at her skin. Oh no, no, no--)
 
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"Well, you threw yourself off after me!" Guinevere pointed out, raising her eyebrows quizzically. It was a valid point, wasn't it? Never mind the fact that she hadn't jumped off a fucking cliff (it was a lake) she knew that wasn't necessarily Morgan's point in this specific scenario. The cut in her arm burned and she gritted her teeth together. Shit. So why did she follow her if she didn't have a plan, or some kind of lesson to teach? At that point the other woman was just recklessly risking her life to see what would happen at the bottom of the lake. (Which was more or less what Guinevere herself had done, so she really couldn't judge too hard for that. She just knew that she couldn't stand there doing nothing a moment longer. If it ended in death, if it ended with her no longer bringing the other women suffering... it was a worthy sacrifice to make. Because her body had become a vessel for magic that she couldn't possibly control or understand, an unruly weapon for it to wield. It wasn't fair, no, but a great many things in this world weren't. If it was necessary to hit the self-destruct button to keep everyone safe, then...) Ahem. Or, alternatively, maybe Morgan actually cared about what was going to happen to Guinevere herself at the bottom. Somehow that particular narrative sounded far-fetched to her. Nah. No way was that it. The lady didn't cherish her new gloves that much, surely. She frowned, sticking out her lower lip. Her head hurt. "Figured you did that 'cause you wanted to give me guidance or some shit. Don't tell me you followed me off the edge just to fuckin' sass me? 'Cause that sounds real smart!"

Guinevere watched bewilderedly when someone who looked very much like a glamorous reflection of her emerged from the orb, wearing a flowing white dress. (Nothing-- nothing was that shade of white in the wastelands. Everything had yellowed with age or was smeared in a coating of dirt or blood. Aside from the clouds or freshly fallen snow, she had never seen a white garment kept in such pristine shape before.) Weird. Weird and unfitting in a world like this. (Camelot itself always struck her as strange now that she thought about it. A place like that shouldn't exist in the current world they were living in-- a place that drew such a clean divide between the blessed and the damned. How could the people living there claim to be the 'virtuous ones' the gods hadn't abandoned all while selfishly hoarding their resources?) There was something else the sight of this double dredged up, though, and that was...

"Jenny...?" Guinevere mused confusedly, her heart clenching in her chest. (The concept of herself wearing a wedding dress was so unthinkable to her that her mind immediately decided this was Jennifer she was looking at. Her twin sister who would've adored to wear such a dress one day if she'd ever been able to get her hands on one.) Although the double wasn't talking like Jennifer, so it quickly apparent that this was another illusion of some sort. Not Jenny. This was some bastardization of who she was supposed to be in the knight's eyes. While she was able to shut most of it out, it was undeniable that the comments about her friends cut through her defenses-- her steely expression flinched subtly and she bitterly pressed her eyes shut.

"...I don't have a fucking husband. If you wanna join that piece of shit Arthur in the afterlife I can help you with that!" Guinevere was tempted to swim forward, to rush her delusional double when she noticed the swords lining the bottom of the lake like an obvious threat. Then Morgan took her hand, which reminded her that yes, the sorceress was still there. (For some reason.) She was still there and finally gave her some debatably useful information on what the hell was going on. (...Not that it was particularly helpful, given that Guinevere had only just started learning the basics. Part of their agreement had also been that she wasn't going to use magic.) A spirit? A thread? And apparently Morgan couldn't cut it-- and she would have to do that herself.

Pfft. Cutting a measly thread? Was that it? Because Guinevere could do that easily enough with her sword.

Before Guinevere could move forward or even try, however, Morgan spoke again with a much different tone. (As if she was impatient or something... but Guinevere was about to do exactly as she said. What fucking gives!?) Brows pinching with confusion, she watched the lady with mild annoyance. Did she misunderstand something back there?

"So now you'll do it yourself? But you said you couldn't just a fucking second ago!" Guinevere scoffed. What was the lady trying to do here? Confuse her on purpose--? Or was Guinevere just too stupid to see whatever it was she was actually trying to do here? Geez. Magic was unpredictable and frightening enough to deal with as it was without these confusing, wishy-washy instructions thrown in the mix! (Ahem. Not frightening. Guinevere wasn't, uh, scared. 'Course not!) Annoyed, she challengingly crossed her arms over her chest. "...Fine, lady. Show me what you can do, then."

If Morgan was so damned confident then Guinevere was perfectly content to watch her at work. Maybe a newfound respect for her prowess with magic would come from seeing her competence in handling this situation, perhaps it would open some new door to her grasping what needed to be done in the future. (...And considering the double intended to fight her with blades, she figured it was a perfect opportunity to see just how well her training would serve her in future battles.) Of course the opportunity to spectate this fight and Morgan's progress never came, because of course blades wouldn't work like normal fucking blades in a magic fucking lake.

Guinevere closed her eyes against the whiplash as the world itself changed. Ugh. This was one of the things she hated the very most about magic. In a fight she relied on her ability to observe her surroundings and use them to her advantage. When the stage always changed in the most random ways, there was hardly any way for her to come up with a strategy the way she normally might. She had to learn to adapt to survive the wastelands, but magic always escalated these situations to the next level. It was a level that rested someplace beyond human comprehension. It felt like she was just a helpless piece trapped in a twisted game, unable to do anything worthwhile to change her fate... because magic would conveniently tie her hands together before she could use them to make a change that would matter.

(I have to take control of this somehow. Think, think, think!) Guinevere tried to ignore the pyre, tried to ignore the way the flames rose and caused her heart to clench in the most painful way.

...Hm. Maybe Guinevere needed to use the established rules to her advantage. The strike of two blades was what caused this unwelcome change in the first place. (According to the knight, the swords would reveal the truth with every single strike.) But the versions of Excalibur all around them were fakes. She knew this because the real one resided within her own chest. The knight, the demon double... they wielded illusionary swords, which apparently gave birth to illusions they tried to pass off as the 'truth'. ('See? You're much smarter than you give yourself credit for, child. This magic is a part of you... your instincts will not lead you astray.') The voice was soft, motherly, comforting. (She always had to be strong. Always, always, always. And so this was exactly the kind of encouragement she needed when the entire world was on fire. Not the harshness that was thrown at her at every turn, but rather a soft place to land. Whoever spoke to her must have known her better than she knew herself. She could... she could trust them.) Her eyes flashed with a blinding gleam of silver. The double was running towards her now, her sword raised high. Rather than lift her own blade to clash in combat, however, Guinevere glared and simply tossed the fake she was holding off to the side. It burst into a thousand sparks. (Outwardly she appeared perfectly composed and unafraid. Inwardly, though? Her heart pounded out of her chest. Shit. There she was, throwing her only weapon away in the middle of a sword fight! Was she sure about this?)

('Your instincts will not lead you astray.')

'Coward. Do you just intend to lay down and die, then!?' The knight scoffed. (This was where his web of lies unravelled and fell apart. If she dared to fight then she was refusing to face her death with dignity. If she chose to die, though? Then that made her a coward. There was no winning a game that was rigged against her from the onset. The knight continued to throw accusations and threats... but as his words lost value, they fizzled out into a meaningless buzzing in her ears.) Guinevere ignored him and focused solely on her double. When she was just seconds away from being cut in two, she took a steadying breath, placing a hand over her own heart as she summoned the sword from her chest.

The fakes were pretty convincing... but when the real Excalibur appeared before them? It was very, very obvious that it was the genuine artifact. The silver light, the showers of shimmer raining down like stars. There was no way a cheap replica could possibly compete with a sword so legendary.

Guinevere's smirk was as sharp as her blade as the two swords clashed in combat. With every strike of steel the world around them changed. The flames extinguished, the pyre disappeared. (They inhabited green forests and castle halls, dusty cellars and lavish bedrooms. The changes were so constant that there was hardly time for anyone to adjust or observe what was actually going on anymore. Every strike she initiated flooded the lake with her own version of the truth, instead of the knight's fabrications.) Eventually she gained the upper hand over her double in combat, knocking her to the ground and stomping her boot on her chest to pin her in place. She held the tip of her blade to the other woman's chin.

"If you were really me you'd feel no sense of loyalty to that bastard! Don't you see?" Guinevere asked. It seemed that these words were far more relevant than she knew... as the world had changed into the double doors leading into Camelot's chapel. She only knew that because she'd been there once before-- back in that vision of a wedding she had inhabited with Morgan. Another version of the wedding dress double she held at sword point now was being pinned down as shoes were forced onto her feet. When she struggled against it... 'Arthur' (or rather some other version of him) slapped her right across the face, barking a command to be still at her as if she were a dog. The display of cruelty accompanied a heavy silence before the world itself began to shake and crumble. A nearby vase of flowers fell to the ground and shattered.

"That never... he... he never--" The double's voice shook just like the world around them as she tried to make sense of it. "Arthur is noble and kind and... he would not..." She pressed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, by the rage of expression alone she finally resembled Guinevere more than Jennifer. She set her sights on the knight and the real Guinevere stepped back to give her space to react. "You lied to me!"

And with that? With that, the double rushed and tackled the knight. While they were busy fighting amongst themselves, Guinevere walked over to Morgan. Well. That was a thing that happened. She bit her lip awkwardly. "Are you okay?" Then she tilted her head. "...Will you tell me how to cut the thread now?"
 
“Yes,” Morgan rolled her eyes, “I did exactly that. The opportunity to follow the world’s biggest disaster into the void was too tempting, because I knew that, if you were to die, I’d never find such a suitable target again. Consider yourself to be blessed, Guinevere Leodegrance!” Pfft, how ridiculous. Obviously, the sorceress had gone after her because… because… uh, because of her blood? For the research. In the name of science, she had done things far more questionable than saving women she didn’t at all care for! Her stupidly pretty face had influenced her decisions about as much as weather did. (Ugh. Why was she even thinking of these things, again? Guinevere’s aesthetic side was irrelevant, and always would be. It wasn’t like any of that mattered when she hated her, with all the rage of a thousand burning suns. Right, hated her! And that was why she was risking her life now, trying to save her from the results of her own incompetence. Duh. The pieces of the puzzle totally fit, at least if you were hellbent on not examining the picture that they formed. Of course, of course that that was when the woman decided to be observant, too! In her heart, the sorceress had already begun to spin the conspiracy theory that literally anything Guinevere did was done specifically to spite her. Her track record so far, at least, supported the conclusion.) “Well,” Morgan scrunched up her forehead, “I did say that. Maybe I was wrong, though. What, you think I have the copyright to the truth? I’m allowed to make a mistake from time to time. It just seems to me I’ve overrated your abilities, is all.” …if nothing else, the goal of getting her really mad was approaching at the speed of light. So, the plan sort of worked?

Any semblance of control that she might have had vaporized the second the pyre seized her, much like a hungry wolf would tear into its prey. Morgan’s heart jumped straight into her throat, and-- and--

‘Don’t fight it, sorceress. This is where you belong.’

‘Isn’t this the future Arthur has promised to you? Embrace it, and rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!’

‘Even your mother, peace be unto her, knew. You were marked by a dark sign when you were born, and she cried her eyes out. She tried to save her precious daughter, but you were always meant for the seed of darkness that has taken root within you. Did you know? Did you, did you?’

(No, Morgan didn’t. It was also hard to imagine her mother shedding any tears over her, though, and so she doubted the narrative she was being served. The smoke was rising from the dry twigs at her feet, rising, rising, rising, and turning every inhale into a sharp pinch. Light like a lover’s touch, the flames caressed her naked skin, and, just like that lover? They tried to devour her. A cacophony of screams erupted all around her, near her, from within her, and it took Morgan a few seconds to realize that it was her who was screaming. Oh, joy. Through tears of pain, she reached for her magic, reached for--)

‘Yes, that’s it. Scream for us. This is what you get, you pathetic human, for grasping that which never should have been yours. Don’t you know that curiosity kills cats? And those have nine lives, while you… hmm, I have stopped counting. Which one is it?’

‘Fifth? Sixth?’

‘You certainly have trouble staying dead, sorceress. Why must you be so inadequate in everything? Your compatriots don’t seem to share your difficulties.’

…what? Trouble staying dead? Morgan would have discounted it as drivel, and perhaps she would have been right to do that, too, but… well, Guinevere had said something similar. Almost frighteningly so. The coincidences just kept piling up, one after another, and, really, for how long could she continue to ignore it? Because at that point, it wasn’t healthy skepticism-- it was just ignorance, born from clinging to comfort. To that which was familiar. A coincidence repeated so many times was a pattern, even if she did not see the regularities yet! (…a lie, the sorceress knew. She did see the pattern, alright. She did see it, even if she didn’t understand it. The common factor was her and Guinevere; life and death; and then, of course, blood, blood, blood, running both through the other woman’s veins and the scorched earth they’d inherited. Ah, gods! If not for the pain exploding behind her eyelids, the sorceress could--)

--and then, all of a sudden? The pain stopped, as quickly as it had begun. The flames that had been licking at her, wanting to claim more and more and more? Gone, like hopes dissolving under the weight of reality. Disoriented, Morgan looked around, both seeing and not, and… gods. (Guinevere had done all of it, she was aware. Despite wielding magic like a crude stick, she had somehow figured out the underlying principle. Where knowledge had failed, instincts prevailed, and, aaargh, nothing could have infuriated her more! Yet, still, a tidal wave of relief spread through her chest, and something akin to gratitude as well. She wasn’t an ice statue, okay?! Feeling thankful for being released her from all that pain was an automatic reaction, akin to blinking when someone clapped a few centimeters away from your nose. It meant nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing! Had Arthur himself somehow possessed enough brainpower to save her, she would have been grateful as well. …alright, maybe not. Let’s not get too hasty here.)

“Thank you,” Morgan said, quietly, as she watched the strange performance unfold. Guinevere’s hand had guided it to this point, but where should the marionettes go now? How to break the script to the proto-particles? (This wasn’t regular magic, the sorceress knew that much. Rules were being broken left and right, arcane tomes torn to shreds, years of studying mocked, devalued. Despite all of her experience, Morgan could only… stare, really. Stare, and try to spot something helpful in all that chaos.) “To tell you the truth,” she began, “I don’t think I know. I thought I did, but this is all too--” --ah. The truth. That was it, wasn’t it? The common thread, linking everything together. The knight claimed to know it, to possess sole ownership of it, even, but Guinevere had proved him for the fraud he was. From this standpoint, hadn’t her methodology been flawed from the very start? She had wanted to set Guinevere’s potential alight, but no fire could survive without air, without enough kindling. Lies couldn’t sustain it. “…I was trying to trick you into awakening your magical potential. Sometimes, strong emotions can have that sort of trigger effect. It is true enough that I can’t cut it for you, and it is also true that, given your current level, you probably can’t do it, either. That doesn’t mean we can do nothing, though. Just go along with what I’m about to do.”

After all, the knight’s illusions were defeated by glimpses of that which was true, on some metaphysical level. And, considering by the nature of the fragments that were raining down on them, sharp like shards of glass? Morgan had an inkling she knew what version of reality… uh, corresponded… with this knight’s defeat. With endless deaths that weren’t deaths, and with memories that had both crumbled to dust and hadn’t even formed yet. Gulp. Steeling herself, the sorceress stepped forward.

“Of course that she had no husband, you moron,” she spoke up. (Her voice might have been a whisper, a tiny candle in the overwhelming darkness, but still, still the two figures froze. Both the knight and fake Guinevere looked at her, with something suspiciously similar to terror written in their faces.) “She had me.” And, with that? With that, Morgan’s lips crashed into Guinevere’s.
 
Guinevere was warmed (and, okay, maybe a bit surprised) by Morgan's thanks in spite of everything transpiring around them and managed a sunny smile in response. The acknowledgement that she had done well was nice. (Nice and... and that's all!) Excalibur seemed glow just a little brighter alongside her, although she didn't particularly seem to notice that fact when her attention naturally directed itself towards the knight and her double's duel. (Huh. Would it be weird to cheer herself on in this specific context? Like, yeah! Go, punch that fucker in the nose! Wedding dress Guinevere for sure had the upper hand thus far and some part of her wondered if they could just let her handle the rest. It wasn't as if these visions were rooted in reality or anything-- but she had a feeling she'd similarly want to punch something after witnessing her mistreatment treatment in the chapel. Not to mention that seeing that woman who shared her face get slapped felt very much like taking a slap to her face herself. As if it was real. But it couldn't... couldn't actually be real. Maybe this was some other woman's ghost, imprinting on her? It sounded weird and all-- but magic was fucking weird. There was nothing she could do about that.) Her attention flicked back over to the sorceress when she again began to talk about it. Uh oh. She didn't know? That revelation dropped her stomach with apprehension. (The magic that stuck to her like flies to honey was already spiraling out of hand! She had already-- already hurt her friends. No one could be faulted for this turn of events, not even Morgan, but the knowledge that they were forging through wholly unknown territory here did not inspire confidence in her. While her fear didn't translate to the expression on her face, the Excalibur in her hands flickered in time with her waning confidence.)

"Trick me?" Guinevere echoed as Morgan explained what she was going for back there, scrunching her nose up. Oh... so that was why she switched her tone so fast? (Geez. She might not have been the sharpest, but she was observant, all right? Kind of had to be to surprise the wastelands! If the sorceress wanted to trick her she'd have to do better than that. Maybe she didn't pick up on the fact that she was being tricked, but she noticed the discrepancies.) Had Morgan explained outright that she needed to get emotional then maybe she could've done something about it! 'Getting emotional' and 'clearing her mind' weren't necessarily the same things-- while she didn't turn into a magic expert overnight, she was trying to hold onto some of the sorceress's prior advice through this. (...Would that have even worked, though? Honestly, she wasn't sure. Emotions couldn't necessarily be turned on with a switch, they didn't really work that way, but she could've easily channeled her energy towards various different events that had happened recently to inspire a reaction from herself! Fan her own flames so to speak.) Whatever. It was fine. It'd be fine. They were just trying to find their footing amidst a whole ass mess was all. She wasn't about to put any of that on Morgan. She'd tried something out and it didn't quite work out the way they expected it to. Mistakes fucking happened, it was part of life. So long as they lived to see another day they'd learn from it. Again, it was fine. What Guinevere was really upset about was the fact that they were more or less shooting all of their shots in the dark. Which made their chances of 'living' through whatever the hell debatable at best. "...Hey, lady. Have you ever taught anyone about magic before?" She shook her head sympathetically. "I'm not trying to be harsh here, but I might learn better if I'm kept in the loop is all I'm trying to--"

Ah, shit. They were really just bullshitting along as they went, then, weren't they? Guinevere supposed that they were dealing with territory that the sorceress hadn't experienced yet, though, so it was hard to say that she would have known what to do even if she were a headmistress of a school for magic. (Everyone learned differently, too. Guinevere might not have been an expert in any topic you could learn from a book, but she did know a thing or two about teaching somebody how to fight.) Over the years, many of her friends had informed her she was a 'visual learner'. Maybe that information could help somehow... but it wasn't the time for that discussion.

Morgan had already come up with some other idea on her own in the meantime. 'Go along with it...?' Guinevere frowned. (For some reason, she wasn't sure if she liked where this was going. Probably because she had no fucking clue where it was going!) Call her paranoid, but she kind of liked being able to call her own shots in fights. If she moved forward, trusting herself and her own body, her sword... that's when she truly felt like was in control of her own fate. Right now she was just confused. Confused, trapped, and in way over her head.

Guinevere had done something worthwhile back there by trusting in her own instincts, hadn't she? Maybe she ought to just hone in on that, listen to the mysterious inner voice and...

'Of course that she had no husband.' Um, okay! Guinevere nodded, deciding it was the only way she could 'go along' with this for now. That was true. Yep! No husband, not her. (Never her. Never, never, never!) Were they, uh, just going to try talking this out again? Because she had kind of already tried serving the knight a couple of truth bombs before... and that had brought her wedding dress double to life. Maybe something had changed now that the double was more or less on their side? So she opened her mouth to confirm this fact with her own words when--

'She had me.'

Um. Say what now!? Guinevere wasn't sure she could continue the smile and nod tactic when she dropped that tidbit. In fact, she was just seconds away from asking Morgan what the hell she was--

Then their lips crashed together. The noise that Guinevere made... was a noise. (A noise that was so embarrassingly high-pitched that it did not warrant description.) The sensation was familiar. It ignited all of those false memories and, uh, passionate feelings that she had attempted to throw ice water on after experiencing those dreams where she and Morgan-- she and Morgan--

Either way, it sparked all of those repressed feelings into a full-blown firework show. Like a whole rainbow of colors splashed over a dark page, illuminating the night. It cut through the world they were in, effectively dissolving the Guinevere double and her thread. (The kiss was lovely on some deep, secret level. Lovely. Soft. Like coming home. Wait, what!? But the crash-boom noise was surprising and in the aftermath? She had to dodge burning flames raining down from the sky! Those flames being the knowledge that she already had a girlfriend, a girlfriend whose name she had to stress was not Morgan le Fey and--) Excalibur phased back into her heart. Then Guinevere pushed the sorceress away by the shoulders and quickly snapped a hand to her mouth. The kiss had effectively stolen all of her words. All she could do was stare with an amalgam of horror and something undefinable.

"What the fuck." Guinevere started, slowly lowering her hand from her lips. (Fuck. She was a terrible girlfriend. Fuck!) Adrianne was no doubt suffering from whatever injury she had just inflicted her with and there she was, kissing another woman. Kissing another woman and kinda sorta leaning into it. (Why do these worlds continually push her and Morgan together?) "What the fuck!?"

The knight made a noise of disgust. Now that the other Guinevere had vanished, he was their only remaining opponent. The thread still connected them, but it shivered. The entire lake shivered... and then he stabbed the point of his fake Excalibur into the ground and shattered it-- effectively dropping them down, down, down into darkness.

Were they free? Somehow Guinevere envisioned that they would need to be moving upward if they were escape from a lake, rather than sinking deeper... but magic was fucking weird. No matter what was happening, there was one (incredibly fitting) phrase that she felt inclined to repeat a third time.

"What the fuck!?"
 
'Have you ever taught anyone about magic?' If questions could deliver punches, Morgan le Fey would have been collecting her teeth from the ground by now. "If I have taught anyone magic?" she repeated. "Oh, for sure. Along with things like, I don't know, mathematics and respecting women. All disciplines that the dear people of Camelot loved, as you can imagine." Just, what was even happening in Guinevere's head? Was her perspective so warped? Because if she thought that Camelot was somehow Hogwarts, with her as the headmistress, then she was wrong, wrong, wrong! So wrong that the sorceress didn't know whether to laugh or cry. (Well, she did. She did, but maybe she didn't want to.) "Of course I didn't teach anyone. Nobody taught me, either. I was a... a..." A mistake. A devil's child. A magnet for depravity, crawling from the depths of the earth. The seed of the Catastrophe. There was no need to unearth all of that, though, was there? Especially not in front of her. "Nevermind," Morgan shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I am. What matters is that... no, I have never taught anyone before. You'll have to deal with being my guinea pig, I suppose." Yes, a guinea pig. A guinea pig she felt nothing for-- nothing, nothing, nothing, despite the echoes from the past. Despite them screaming into her ear, telling her... what? (Something that she wasn't ready to hear yet. Something that she might never be prepared for, depending on... uh, if all of their kisses were that good? Aaargh, not the point!)

(Except that it was. Somehow, Morgan sensed that it was the point of everything. The first chapter of the story, and its epilogue as well. The warmth, the familiarity, the sense of belonging-- all so tempting, but also so scary. False. Right? It had to be, because it wasn't even hers. Someone else wearing her name was the protagonist of that narrative, and Morgan... Morgan was just kind of there, as her placeholder. As her pitiful shadow, holding onto the pieces of that shattered memory. It wasn't supposed to be possible, no, but... well, what was she if not the of the seeker of the impossible? Someone who could see beyond that? The clues had been there all along, hiding in the darkness. That Morgan hadn't understood them before was nobody else's fault but hers, really. The patterns didn't lie-- eyes did, and shadows, and all the smoke and mirrors. Her heart as well, beating wildly in her chest. Her traitorous heart, whispering to her that...) "Don't!" the sorceress blurted out, refusing to look Guinevere in the eye. "Just don't say anything, alright? It worked. My hunch was right, and that's all that matters. It's... complicated. I will explain later." Explain what, exactly? That she and Guinevere might have been, uh, involved? In the exact same way that all those visions had been suggesting, too? A bitter meal to swallow, considering it could never be agai-- oh, no, no, no! That bit wasn't bothering Morgan at all. Guinevere was uncouth, and rude, and insufferable, and if there was any sore spot at all, it was related to her past self's drastic lack of taste. Just, what had she been thinking? Going for the rebel from the wastes fantasy of all things? Sad! Downright tragic. Indicative of some seriously poor prospects, if you asked her.

"I am not sure what-- aaaah!"

But then, naturally, they were falling. Falling towards the darkness, towards the great unknown sleeping in the center, towards... something shiny? A silver light blinking in the emptiness, pulsing according to a rhythm unheard. According to an invisible heart, the sorceress knew. Morgan would have loved to say that she was unaffected, already used to such things, but you could never quite grow accustomed to the sense of gravity slipping away from your hands. Desperately, she reached for the closest solid object, and-- and that might have been Guinevere, alright?! But that was a coincidence! Much like their landing, which... uh, resulted in her ending up on top of her. Kind of. (A memory flashed before her mind's eye, quick and hazy. Bodies tangled, with nothing in between them, and a fire crackling in the hearth. Shadows dancing on the walls, too. With a smile on her lips, she watched the woman beneath her-- each spasm, each bead of sweat, each wish reflected in her eyes. "Anything you'd like me to do, hmm? You only have to say the word, Gwen.") Gwen. Morgan jumped away from the incriminating position, as if she'd been burned. In a sense, she was. (The knight was nowhere to be seen, but, for some reason, that did not exactly fill her with confidence. Maybe because they didn't know his whereabouts? And she did not doubt, not even for a second, that the playground was skewed in his advantage.)

"I, uh, am sorry?" the sorceress half-said, half-asked, not knowing what to do with her hands. "But I agree, 'what the fuck' is an apt description of our situation. I suppose we should move forward. Do you see that shimmering thing? I propose that we investigate." Yes, because that was what she had been reduced to: 'follow the shiny!' Had Morgan le Fey had literally any time to think about this, surely she would have been swallowed by shame. The one advantage to this situation, though? Overthinking demanded the resources she did not currently have, and so the gears of her mind remained still. Well... relatively. "You and I," Morgan said, her voice sounding strangely strained. "It appears that we may have been a couple in some other timeline. That's the only explanation for all the recent weirdness that I can think of. I mean... I may be wrong, considering that I only accepted the existence of other timelines about five seconds ago, though yes, that's the current leading theory. The other possibility... ugh, I can't believe that I am about to say this, but it feels even more unlikely. Amnesia of this extent is rare enough in one person, let alone two, and us losing our memories wouldn't explain it all. Most of the events we've witnessed couldn't have happened." Disturbingly often, they had resulted in their deaths. And those things tended to have more of an impact, you know?

"I have no idea what any of that means, but there's your transparency." As they walked closer to the source of light, Morgan had to shield her eyes-- it was growing more and more intense, almost as if she was staring into the sun. Only, it seemed to be a shard? A shard stuck in a stone lion's mouth, covered in softly gleaming runes. "Well. Any idea how to get it out? This thing isn't budging." No, it wasn't, but the knight's Excalibur certainly was. Towards Guinevere's head, too!

"Say your prayers, false queen," he snickered. "You've come this far, but all of that has been for nothing. What does it feel like, hmm? You could have been someone, but you chose nothing. You chose her, and for what? She doesn't even know you."
 
Guinevere closed her eyes in a wince when the back of her skull knocked against solid ground and then a weight (a person) collided with her chest, pressing the air out of her lungs. "Ooof." (What the fuck. And let her reiterate with feeling this time-- what the fuck?) She really should have waited to open her eyes, but she made the mistake of opening them anyways. And she found herself staring incredulously into green eyes that had no right to look so (beautiful) familiar. They belonged to Morgan. Morgan, who she had only known for a short while now. Morgan, who she was fairly certain hated her guts. (But also kissed her. Why did she kiss her? And why did the urge to reciprocate wash over her like a healing spring rain? Why--) Just what the fuck was going on here? What the fuck!? What the fuck, what the fuck what the-- she closed her eyes again, tighter this time, as if that might break this spell. As if when she opened them again she would discover she was safely in her tent and this was just another one of her absurd fucking dreams. This magical fortress they were locked in was built with bricks of illusionary tricks. That was all this was. A big trick, meant to get under her skin and take her off guard. She just needed to adapt and press onward without looking for hidden 'meanings' and bullshit. Cramming her head with shit that didn't matter would be a fast way to get herself killed. (But barging headfirst into this with no knowledge about the magic she was wielding was also a damning path. No matter where she looked, everything felt... hopeless.) Confronting that feeling, the temperature fell sharply and a wintery chill crept down to the marrow of her bones. Winter was coming. Things outside were worse than ever. So many people were depending on her.

Morgan might have jolted backward, but there was still a crushing weight on Guinevere's chest. For a moment, she just laid there. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Snap out of it, Guinevere. Get up. Get the fuck up!

Fuck. Guinevere needed to find something to hit or stab or slay. Anything to break out of this with her own two hands. With a blade. With something she actually could control. (There had to be something-- someone-- that she needed to fight to fix this. That knight, probably. She would kick his ass and then... and then she'd have to face what she had done before she jumped into this mess headfirst. Provided she made it out of this alive.)

"...Right." Guinevere just nodded dimly. Everything she was laid flat beneath the crushing pressure. (She shook her head and tried to stay bright, her attempt came off like the sun trying to shine through the thick of storm clouds. The light they followed shined much brighter than she did. Something in deep in her wondered what would happen if they headed in the opposite direction, towards the endless dark instead. It was too much for you, child. A silky voice whispered. You wanted to disappear.) Too much. She carried a lot but it never stopped her. (Nothing's too much for me. I can take it.) Scrubbing her hands over her face as if to reset herself, she climbed to her feet and followed behind Morgan. Morgan who she might have had a relationship with in another timeline? What the f--

Separate timelines. Amnesia. (Fuck. Fuck. It was too much. Guinevere gritted her teeth. No. Nothing's too much for me. I'll handle it. Whatever comes my way, I'll...) She tensed and then deflated. What the fuck was happening to her? There were so many voices in her head, all which seemingly belonged to her, and all of them had a different story to tell. The knight asked her who she was and she claimed to know who she was. But if it was amnesia? (No way! She'd lived a whole life out in the wastes. A life that she remembered just fucking fine. So... it couldn't be amnesia. She had her gang to back her up on that and everything. Morgan at least seemed to agree with her that that particular theory was a bit far-fetched.) She condensed everything she was feeling into a groan and massaged her temples. "Great. Now I feel like my brain's gonna melt out of my ears."

Guinevere almost wished that Morgan had reason to gloat about her knowledge on the subject. Because in that scenario, at least one of them would know what the fuck was going on here. They were both in the dark, though, and would have to roll with the punches. The ground beneath their feet lacked any stability whatsoever. Hell, it had fallen out right from beneath them just minutes before!

All the voices in Guinevere's head either gasped or hushed when they approached the stone lion. It was haunting, somehow. The cold in the air cut even deeper through her, the last remaining ribbons of warmth streaming out of her. (As the glyphs in the shard gleamed brighter, her own energy faltered. As if there was some kind of correlation between the two of them.) In the lion's teeth. It was in the lion's teeth. (What was? What was it?) People called her old man Leo. Shortened from Leodegrance. He reminded her of a lion when she was a kid. (Was it related? Maybe not. Maybe it was just a fucking lion and it didn't mean anything.) And much like she thought before, getting lost in figuring out the 'meaning' behind all of this was liable to get her killed. Especially seeing as the knight was taking advantage of her distraction to come right at her!

Guinevere flinched and held her hands out in front of her to protect herself from the knight's blade. Which was an unbelievably stupid mistake. A fatal mistake. (Why didn't you dodge!? Now you're going to fucking die--) However, the true Excalibur materialized in her hand, like shimmering crystals, and the blades clanged together before he could cut her down. "...Excalibur?" She was bewildered. Clearly she wasn't feeling like herself. Because if she was she would have dodged back there. Her reflexes were-- ugh. The dissonance between the different thoughts in her head were apparently having an effect on her actions as well. Was this place infecting her somehow?

"I..." Guinevere stammered. (Where was her confidence going? It felt as if it was being drained from her, like blood from a needle.) She held Excalibur out against the knight's attacks, acting only in defense as he gained on her. (There was a warrior in her. A warrior who could take this fool. Where did she go?) 'You could have been someone.' She narrowed her eyes. "I never needed to 'be someone'." Because it was never about her, was it? It was never about the glory or being called a 'hero'. It was... (As long as she was someone to her, that was enough. That was always enough.) "I protect my own. That's all. That's enough for me." Strangely enough? The stone lion's jaw trembled whenever Guinevere spoke. The shard wobbled in its teeth.

"You haven't protected anyone. Your wickedness endangered everyone you ever loved." The knight slashed at her and all Guinevere could do was defend. "Now you will die and so will she. And the Excalibur will be returned to the stone, to be pulled by its rightful master. The one true king. Arthur Pendragon!"

The name was powerful, apparently (annoyingly), because when he said it the Excalibur in Guinevere's hands shattered and dissolved back into her chest. Fuck. He knocked her to the ground with a shove and stood over her, blade raised high over his head. "If you beg forgiveness I may consider sparing you." He smiled, showing his teeth.

"Never." Guinevere snapped back dauntlessly. When she said this? The lion's mouth opened and the shard fell free, clattering directly at Morgan's feet and a voice whispered lullingly to her. 'A broken fragment of the Holy Grail. It is yours for the taking, Morgan le Fey. What shall you do? What shall you choose?'
 
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