Author's Note: The prologue was written by sparrowsmagician.

Her heels click as she slowly glides down the hall of the great castle in Camelot. Her toes tap in a perfect rhythm against the stone and the melody soothes the lady's raging thoughts. Her hands are clasped in front of her in a regal fashion with each cautious step. Her eyes dart left and right. She is on edge because of a particularly nosey manservant.

Her heels continue to tap and after a quick glance behind her Morgana brings her hand up to her head, fingering the stitches found in her skull. Her eyes close as the words of her not father wash over her. She is nothing more than a ward…a woman who will be looked after, but never fully taken into the house of Pendragon.

Her thoughts swirl and mesh as the realization of her misfortune push down upon her shoulders. She continues her walk, a few birds outside sing to each other. Morgana has the urge to shoot them with a bow and arrow. She used to love to hear birds sing, but now their noise is nothing more than a deep annoyance, a reminder of the box she has found herself in.

She looks behind her again. She can never be too careful these days. Her fingers come back to her wound, the remembrance of the fall haunting the young woman. It was as if the candleholder took on a life of its own as it crashed into her and sending her down those stairs like forgotten laundry. She remembers a look of absolute fear taking over her being, the fall harsh and powerful. She can still hear her skull cracking and her flesh ripping.

She wrings her hands again, sitting at one of the windows. She takes a breath to block out the pain, the fear. She spots her idiotic…brother? Her eyes soften. What a ridiculous thing to call him. He is technically her kin, but Arthur has never been her brother. All those years of flirting and reassurance that one day they would be joined in marriage play in her head. Gwen even said that she would be queen one day, and now that servant will sit upon her throne…

Morgana fists her skirt at the thought. All those years of being the perfect princess and what does she have to show for it? A man who claims to be her father shuns her; she watches as her people get persecuted daily; and she has to live this dreadful double life and pretend to actually like these insignificant fools. She breaths slowly through her nose, her anger elevates.

Her eyes fall on that annoying manservant. His face is a mask of giddy happiness, as if he had done something heroic recently. He is nothing more than an interfering annoyance. She watches him from above, like a hawk sizing up its prey. He is laughing with her moron of a prince. Both men seem to share a joke, for the manservant is holding his sides in joy. She watches as Arthur pushes Merlin in a brotherly fashion, their eyes dancing in merriment. She wants to crush him.

He is telling Arthur something, but she can the man is not listening. The manservant has reduced himself to hand gestures, and the witches eyes darken. His hands…they used to be tools to create and love. She remembers how they turned on her and became evil in a matter of moments; they committed such an awful transgression. His hands are sinners. She remembers them the best from that day, their connection to the sheepskin water pouch that held her fate. She recalls her fingers brushing with his as he handed her the container of death. His eyes were so kind, so honest. Why would she ever doubt such a man?

Morgana's teeth grind at the memory. Her nails dig into the hard stone as the moment of death flashes before her. He had turned as she started to gasp for breath, struggling to understand why he would betray her in such a way. What she had done to deserve such a fate? His eyes looked so sad, so remorseful. It reminded her of the last time he looked so helpless in front of her. A time when she was scared of her magic and he sought her out desperate for her to return to Camelot. She was happy with the druids, those few hours felt like a lifetime of peace. She had gone with him, and part of her knew that good, honest Merlin could lead her anywhere and she would follow. He was her savior during that time, helping her when everyone else had turned their backs.

His arms felt weak as they held her, as she struggled to push him away. Her breath felt so out of reach, so far from where she could find salvation. He nodded to her, but she didn't understand, she missed something. The doors clanged behind her as her throat constricted and her desire to live diminished. She had died that day. Ger faith and love had died with her. In her place awoke a woman of revenge or righteousness. One who saw no limits to what she would do to claim the throne.

She was always unsure of whether to help her sister or not, Merlin helped sway her in the correct direction. In her time away, she saw the faults of Arthur. His past actions against children who simply possessed gifts were disgusting enough, let alone what he would do in the future once he was king. Arthur could not be trusted with the task. Too much blood was already settled on his hands. He was his father, and would do anything to please the man…even kill.

She took a moment to stare at Merlin again, her eyes dark and powerful, and the knowledge that she was so close to controlling her magic sends sparks down to her fingertips. She looks out, the sun is setting. Morgause will be expecting her soon. Her gaze falls to Merlin again. To make sure he is still with her pratty…brother. If he is distracted, it will make sneaking away easier. She sends him one more insidious look before she disappears into the night.

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Morgana arrives in the clearing her sister had told her to go to, her long green cloak secured tightly around her. She smiles as her eyes fall upon her kin and she runs into the woman's arms.

"Morgana, I am glad to see you well."

The younger girl looks up in admiration. "Yes, it has been a trying few days but I am better. What is it that you require sister?"

The blonde woman's smirk is sinister as she pulls out a scroll. She hands it to Morgana and the younger woman's eyes widen.

"This is-"

"A time bending spell. It is of ancient power and is used to bend time to the speakers will. It is a very powerful spell and needs to be performed with very powerful sorcerers and priestesses…and we are two of those."

Morgana's eyes darken at the parchment. It is almost too good to be true, with the ability to bend time to her will she can go back, change moments, destinies. Her eyes fall to Morgause.

"What is it you plan to do with it sister?"

"I was hoping we could use it to stop time. I want to send in an army and if all of Camelot is frozen it will be an easy siege. With this parchment Uther could blink and the next moment we could be standing in front of him, swords drawn."

Morgana's eyes widen, her smirk deepens. What a brilliant idea. "I endorse this sister, how soon till we get an army?"

"Ah, you know how Cenred is. He is already to go back in. When I presented him with this he was more than willing to attack Camelot again."

"It is a good thing you kept him around then isn't it sister?"

Morgause smiles. "It is, isn't it? The only thing he demands is we use the spell first, to make sure it works correctly."

Morgana nods, her smirk is treacherous. "I do not disagree. Would you like to try it out now?"

Morgause pulls out a back, inside are old bones. Morgause holds her hands out for Morgana to take. Both women clasp their fingers together over the bag and start to shake the contents, the bones mixing with the lavender and thyme she had picked earlier. As the ingredients shake Morgana feels her magic pulsating, the ancient words of the spell running over both priestesses.

Am é ach fhírinne shimplí
Flowing breis agus as radharc
Tabhair dúinn chumhacht a rialú anocht am!

As the spell falls from their lips, Morgana feels a strong power engulf her as if time itself is fighting against the ancient magics. She feels it again, the constriction of her throat, the desperate gasping of air, her body is suddenly consumed in light, the blast reaching out and moving the world.

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Ana's eyes open with a start, her breath coming out heavy and raged. She grips the bench behind her for support, her body shaking from the waves of memories mixing together. There are no people in the park, the hour was late. She had just had a nasty fight with her boyfriend and had come here to think. She moves over to the trashcan, her stomach emptying into the waste basket. The world around her suddenly feels surreal. As if everything she believed real is unreal and everything she believed fake is truth.

She looks to the sky, her eyes glisten as the tears fall down her soft cheeks. She can feel her breath become shallow, her throat constricts. Her hand reaches towards the heavens, desperate to touch those blue eyes that haunt her, that destroy her. The last thing she remembers are the stars, and a massive cut appears on her palm.

Note 2: So what exactly has happened? You'll just have to wait and see! On Ana is Morgana by the way. By the way, this story is based on a thread here on here (remove the spaces to get the link: camelotchronicles. proboards index.c gi