Must be dark magic [holo]
The very first thing Morgana does is fall to the floor. It’s not exactly dignified lady of Camelot behaviour, but it’s all she’s capable of doing. Five seconds earlier, she was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, and with the bench literally disappearing out from under her, the floor was the next best option.
Unable to acknowledge the shock, she inspects herself first. Whatever has just occurred, she needs to be certain that she’s in collected, physically, before she can collect herself mentally.
Two legs, hair, face, all present and accounted for, arms too - but with one addition, a bracelet she doesn’t recognize. She’s painfully cognizant of all the jewelry she’s been given over the years, from Uther, from visiting dignitaries trying to impress Uther through his ward, and, from Uther but Arthur pretends to have picked it out. It’s important to keep these things straight, otherwise someone inevitably sulks.
She tries to remove the bracelet, but can’t get a grip. In a panic, she leaves small red scratches on her arm from her failed attempts at removal. The only conclusion Morgana can reach is that she’s fallen asleep.
“I am dreaming. I am dreaming.” She repeats the mantra several times, keeping her eyes closed, hoping when she reopened them, she’d be back in her chamber, explaining to Gwen about her inelegant fall to the floor.
That is, if she’d actually fallen to the floor in reality, and not just in her dream.
She opens her eyes again, this time focusing on the room around her and cannot understand what she sees. The room looks like metal, but the forging is smoother than any smithy’s work she’s ever seen. Not a dimple to be seen.
The lights were not accompanied by the familiar heat of candles.
Taking a deep breath she smells nothing. Daily life in Camelot revolved around a variety of smells, many of them highly unpleasant, but Morgana is accustomed to them, so much so that their absence severely unnerves her.
Stiff, from sitting for several minutes in such an awkward position, Morgana is afraid to more. This has nothing to do with discomfort, but she is momentarily frozen in fear. She smells nothing, and nothing is happening. In her dreams, her nightmares, something always happens, which leads her to the terrifying conclusion that this is real.
“Gwen!” She yells. When all else fails, yell for Gwen. It’s the one person in her world that is utterly reliable. So confident in Gwen’s arrival, Morgana momentarily relaxes, that is until Gwen, ever-faithful Gwen, does not appear. “Gwen!” She yells again, but her voice edges more towards a panicky scream.
Warily, Morgana stands. There’s nothing else to do but look for a way out. But one isn’t readily visible. Doors are solid, wooden, and with ornate handles that Uther favours, unless the doors are bars, obvious and sturdy, indicating punishment. Neither is here. She cannot recognize a door and she’s certain she’s trapped. The only rational explanation to her predicament is that she’s been abducted - straight from her chamber to this strange metallic prison, without anything that Morgana could recognize.
Magic. It’s the only logical explanation.
She pulls herself up to her full height, and with all the dignity she could muster. “Whoever you are, I am Lady Morgana of Camelot, ward of the great King Uther Pendragon. I do not know why you have brought me here, but my guardian will come after me.” Threats of Uther are enough to scare almost anyone, particularly with this open use of magic. Someone would come and she would not shame her home by collapsing or appearing weak and, at the moment, threatening the unknown with Uther is the best idea she has.
“I would also like my maid returned to me. I, and in turn, Uther, would be very upset if something has happened to Gwen.” Gwen had been with her, moments before and Morgana wants to make sure her friend is safe. It would not be possible for Morgana to be ripped from her chamber, or an unknown sorcerer to remove her from Camelot, without Gwen somehow being affected. If Morgana could protect her only friend with by invoking Uther, she would.
Just like the lack of smell, she could hear none of the sounds of everyday life. One of those missing sounds is footfall. No one is coming.
Stepping off the platform, Morgana heads to the only obvious feature in the room, the pedestal. She looks at the object sitting upon it but cannot comprehend what it is. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she is curious, but her sudden removal from all things she knew, to this strange place, made her afraid to touch it. She may not share Uther’s belief that all magic is evil, but anything that was this jarring, this frightening, this alone, had to be as black a magic in which Uther always believed.
She looks at the platform and speaks. “I do not know your plans but understand whatever you want Uther will give it to you. There is no need to hold me here.” Her voice is confident. If someone will just engage her, she may have a chance to escape, to do something, because there is nothing Morgana hates more than feeling completely useless.
At least, if someone came, she could, perhaps, learn what has happened to her.
Unable to acknowledge the shock, she inspects herself first. Whatever has just occurred, she needs to be certain that she’s in collected, physically, before she can collect herself mentally.
Two legs, hair, face, all present and accounted for, arms too - but with one addition, a bracelet she doesn’t recognize. She’s painfully cognizant of all the jewelry she’s been given over the years, from Uther, from visiting dignitaries trying to impress Uther through his ward, and, from Uther but Arthur pretends to have picked it out. It’s important to keep these things straight, otherwise someone inevitably sulks.
She tries to remove the bracelet, but can’t get a grip. In a panic, she leaves small red scratches on her arm from her failed attempts at removal. The only conclusion Morgana can reach is that she’s fallen asleep.
“I am dreaming. I am dreaming.” She repeats the mantra several times, keeping her eyes closed, hoping when she reopened them, she’d be back in her chamber, explaining to Gwen about her inelegant fall to the floor.
That is, if she’d actually fallen to the floor in reality, and not just in her dream.
She opens her eyes again, this time focusing on the room around her and cannot understand what she sees. The room looks like metal, but the forging is smoother than any smithy’s work she’s ever seen. Not a dimple to be seen.
The lights were not accompanied by the familiar heat of candles.
Taking a deep breath she smells nothing. Daily life in Camelot revolved around a variety of smells, many of them highly unpleasant, but Morgana is accustomed to them, so much so that their absence severely unnerves her.
Stiff, from sitting for several minutes in such an awkward position, Morgana is afraid to more. This has nothing to do with discomfort, but she is momentarily frozen in fear. She smells nothing, and nothing is happening. In her dreams, her nightmares, something always happens, which leads her to the terrifying conclusion that this is real.
“Gwen!” She yells. When all else fails, yell for Gwen. It’s the one person in her world that is utterly reliable. So confident in Gwen’s arrival, Morgana momentarily relaxes, that is until Gwen, ever-faithful Gwen, does not appear. “Gwen!” She yells again, but her voice edges more towards a panicky scream.
Warily, Morgana stands. There’s nothing else to do but look for a way out. But one isn’t readily visible. Doors are solid, wooden, and with ornate handles that Uther favours, unless the doors are bars, obvious and sturdy, indicating punishment. Neither is here. She cannot recognize a door and she’s certain she’s trapped. The only rational explanation to her predicament is that she’s been abducted - straight from her chamber to this strange metallic prison, without anything that Morgana could recognize.
Magic. It’s the only logical explanation.
She pulls herself up to her full height, and with all the dignity she could muster. “Whoever you are, I am Lady Morgana of Camelot, ward of the great King Uther Pendragon. I do not know why you have brought me here, but my guardian will come after me.” Threats of Uther are enough to scare almost anyone, particularly with this open use of magic. Someone would come and she would not shame her home by collapsing or appearing weak and, at the moment, threatening the unknown with Uther is the best idea she has.
“I would also like my maid returned to me. I, and in turn, Uther, would be very upset if something has happened to Gwen.” Gwen had been with her, moments before and Morgana wants to make sure her friend is safe. It would not be possible for Morgana to be ripped from her chamber, or an unknown sorcerer to remove her from Camelot, without Gwen somehow being affected. If Morgana could protect her only friend with by invoking Uther, she would.
Just like the lack of smell, she could hear none of the sounds of everyday life. One of those missing sounds is footfall. No one is coming.
Stepping off the platform, Morgana heads to the only obvious feature in the room, the pedestal. She looks at the object sitting upon it but cannot comprehend what it is. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she is curious, but her sudden removal from all things she knew, to this strange place, made her afraid to touch it. She may not share Uther’s belief that all magic is evil, but anything that was this jarring, this frightening, this alone, had to be as black a magic in which Uther always believed.
She looks at the platform and speaks. “I do not know your plans but understand whatever you want Uther will give it to you. There is no need to hold me here.” Her voice is confident. If someone will just engage her, she may have a chance to escape, to do something, because there is nothing Morgana hates more than feeling completely useless.
At least, if someone came, she could, perhaps, learn what has happened to her.