i need somewhere to post fic that's not a commentspamming ground

[anamuan]

(table # err, 5, i think, blatantly stolen from here.) I'm doing Merlin fandom, with a focus on Gwen and Morgana.

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007. One Last Kiss

[anamuan]

The spell goes wrong, somehow. Morgana's not sure what happened, it went wrong so quickly, and then there was just pain and numbness spinning their way through her head and her body. She thinks she might be bleeding, from the warm wet feeling at her stomach, chest, the way her fingers feel numb and her legs feel so, so very far away, but she's tired too, and she can't lift her head to look. She tries to press a hand to her chest, assess the damage by feel, but she's not sure she manages any of it. The world is dropping away precariously, and she can't concentrate, and it's all happening so fast, so terrifyingly fast--and why can't Morgana feel her hands? She can feel her magic, untangling itself at last, but she can't feel her hands.

Gwen's over her suddenly, looking panicked and stricken and trying to force it down. She's yelling something, Morgana can tell because of the way her mouth moves, even though her vision's a little spotty and she can't really hear anything clearly over the rush in her ears. Everything feels so far away. Morgana's got a lot of experience watching Gwen, though; it's her truest hobby and her greatest interest, and so she knows that Gwen is yelling and probably doesn't even realize it herself. She's torn a huge swath out of the bottom of her dress, and Morgana can just see the edge of it at the bottom of her line of sight, pressed to her breast--she was bleeding then.

"Gwen," Morgana says, or tries to say, but it hurts, sharp and sudden and piercing, and she coughs instead, which hurts more, and where has all the pleasant numbness gone when she needs it? She needs to tell Gwen it's ok, she'll be ok, because she wasn't in any pain, only now she is, and Gwen's not yelling anymore. Gwen's just looking at her face with an expression like the world is ending, but the crumpled lavender at the edge of Morgana's line of sight doesn't move at all, Gwen's hands impossibly steady for the panic in her eyes.

"No, no, no, no," Gwen says. Morgana can't hear her--the rush in her head is worse than before, like wind whipping past, not better--and her vision swims, but she can still read Gwen's lips.

"Gwen," she tries again, like it's the last of the breath in her lungs. She doesn't know what she sounds like, if she's rasping or whispering or any of that, but Gwen hears her, because she stops like she's paused, preserved, frozen. Morgana thinks that's worse. She doesn't have the air to say so, doesn't have the strength to rant or rave or rail against it, a world where Gwen looks at her like that. "Kiss me," she says instead, and Gwen leans down and presses her warm lips to Morgana's cold ones.

The heat burns into Morgana's soul, and everything else is forgotten.