“Thirty,” Arthur says.

“Oh. I missed two then.”

Morgana is sitting now, but next to Arthur this time. They are both trying to count the white specks of paint peeling off the opposite wall.

Merlin’s condition, which was unstable a moment ago, is stabilizing. The doctors are still operating on him.

A nurse-a green-approaches them. At least ( Read more... )

The room is stuffy.

Morgana watches the white specks of paint peeling off the wall behind Arthur’s chair and tries to count how many there are.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Someone on her far left coughs.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

She wiggles her sock-clad toes against the lightly damp bottom of her trainer, feeling the soft stuffing that stuck out ( Read more... )