"All that glitters is not gold, but all that is pure most certainly is."
The Dark Ages are over. Camelot has been lost. Killahead is scattered. Those that remember recall bright days filled with the laughter of young boys, one with a crown on his he...
"I trusted you. I trusted you with my darkest desires and you turned around and stabbed me in the back."
Darkness is unsettling on its own, but when paired with thick fog and the silvery touch of moonlight, it can be completely unnerving. Even those who live in the absence of light know when it is dangerous, when it is inhabited by the cruelest of creatures. It does not matter whether gold treasure hides within the smokey tendrils, they will not step foot in that place.
Soft footsteps echo through the trees, the owner lost and confused. They stumble between ancient oaks, tripping over their feet as they try to comprehend the words whispered within the bark.
Who are you? Another? You should be dead.
We thought you were dead.
They frown slightly but continue onward, holding a calloused hand to their heavy head. The matter of how they are here is alarming. How? Why?
Stone grinds beneath them as their bare feet drag over a well-used path. It doesn't quite matter to them in this moment, however, the present event is more pressing.
Or is it? They find themselves wondering as foreign lights speed toward them.
Few words taint their pure tongue as they realise all too late. But the pain is crushing, agonising even. A single name haunts their mind as they stare blankly at the pathway, crimson blood pooling into their vision from their forehead.
Merlin.
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