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Sir Walter Scott wrote "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive."


She hides giggling,

From her mother's grasping fingers,

And with a delighted shriek is found,

She traces her chubby fingers along the angel's face,

The face she shares smiles back,

Innocence and evil share a twisted bond.


Morgana had been buried in a small plot beside her mother, an oak tree grew tall in front of the granite headstone. The myth of Morgana had come to pass, she had fulfilled the destiny left to her by her father. The betrayal of the team, the lies she had told, and the deaths that had followed in her wake. The one thing no one not even her father nor Morgana, herself, had placed in her destiny was love. The love of the team had worked hard to save her and this love had died in the process. This love could have saved her if she had let it. There was a love that she shouldn't have felt, this love, this love she had saved.


The blood dripped through her fingers,

It seemed to coat the floor,

Red was spattered all around,

Death outweighed the pure.


It had been a year and a half, after Morgana and her betrayal, the team hadn't let anyone else join their ranks. They had also become more cautious of new agents and the local law enforcement they worked with. Emily made sure that the team recovered and regrouped after the events of Morgana's death. She and the team had taken in account everything that had transpired, as well as who Morgana was. What the team had not taken into account was Morgana's skill in deception in its entirety, she had managed to fool the greatest minds in the FBI in more than one way. She had hidden not only her true self from them for more than a year, but she had also hidden something far more deadly. True, her parents had died before she had joined the team, when she, herself had been nothing more than a fresh face to the BAU. They had left her the cabin in the woods, which the BAU had had destroyed after her arrest and later death.


Death comes for all,

No one is safe,

Not the weak,

Not the strong,

Not even those who work with Death,

For Death has no loyalty not even to themselves.

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