Unhappy Returns
When Morgana had asked to accompany Viviane to Avalon she’s been uncertain if the Lady of the Lake would agree. Their journey had been silent and uneventful both to and from Avalon, but their quiet companionship had done them both some good, or at least Mogana hoped so. Neither of them had spoken about the things that troubled them nor had they discussed the possibility that they were both running away from them, but being back had helped them both as much as could be expected. Unfortunately she could only stay in her beloved safe haven for so long, and before she even knew it she received news from Camelot of her brother calling her back to court. To be with him. Her skin crawled at the very thought of her future husband, and a shiver ran down her spine as she was reminded of their last encounter. What sort of bloodshed and madness he had been up to in her absence she did not know, nor did she want to. The point is that she was back now, and she could no longer escape her fate.
Shortly after parting ways with Viviane Morgana decided to stop by the market. Part of her knew it would be wise if she bought something for her betrothed as a gift and the other part was desperate for any excuse to postpone seeing him. She stopped at one of the local stands and eyes a ruthlessly sharp dagger with a clawed handle. She picked it up and examined it for a moment, testing it’s weight in her hand even though her only experience with blades came from athames. After a moment she set it back down, thinking to herself that surely the king already had more weapons than he could possibly wish for. Although it had little to do with her quest to find him a gift she gravitated towards a violet sheer veil. It seemed the sort of thing that a bolder woman would wear to a masquerade ball, but after examining it for a moment she draped it tentatively over her face. The owner of the stand held up a mirror for her and commented on the way in which the colour complimented her complexion. “What do you think? Too grim for me to wear to a wedding?” Morgana forced herself to smile. “No, I don’t think the groom would approve of the sentiment.” She reached out, her fingers trailing down the cold mirror as she eyed her reflection.