Camelot: An Epilogue

Me. It was all me. Even as I look back upon the events exactly as they were, my beliefs fail me.

I never meant to harm Wart; Goddess knows I didn’t. He was just a poor innocent soul who got into a position too big for his little britches to handle. He didn’t deserve all this. Poor little Wart. His entire life came crashing down on his head due to the stupidity of those around him. Clever villains may exist in books, but the majority of them are just idiots. Look at that rascal Mordred, for example.

The little weasel. “No harm,” he said. I should have known better... that nasty boy was born a liar. Miserable little wretches like that should never be born in the first place. Pretending to be all conniving and devious when all he wanted was a crown on his head. It’s only fitting that a wicked, horrible woman such as my sister Morgause could produce a man as smelly and trashy as Mordred.

And he never did give me my candy.

But here I am thinking again about my own discomforts, wallowing in my own self pity. Of course, I can’t help it... it’s in my nature as a human being, and what I’ve grown up with. All alone in my invisible castle, with nothing to do but watch...and how I’ve watched. I watched a mind give rise to the dream of many, only to watch it crumble with the greedy desires of a few. There is no one to blame but myself. Oh, and Guinevere.

Guinevere... that whining, delicate piece of fluff who dared came between me and Lance, and completely make turmoil out of dear little Wart’s life. Things would be going all very well if not for her. She has no idea what she did to me... which it makes it all the worse. Conscious harm is the easiest to handle. It is the ignorance of an evil that makes it unbearable.

Her cheerful manner and pretty face. What if I had her pretty face? I would not have to hide behind a clouded magic mask. What if she had not come riding over the hill in a white carriage that day? A white carriage, but black enough to spell doom for all who crossed her path. My stake was laid out for me the day she appeared. Mine and Lance’s.

Lancelot. I had to lose him. Is there such a thing as fate? I had to lose him to Guinevere forever on that fated day. So long ago that she was but a mere child. We, together in the forest... the mystical forest of my youth. She, lost in the woods. He, smitten at once. Deciding to help her, and somehow along the way becoming lost to me. And she with her purist attitude went and made a saint out of him. A saint obsessed with the utter perfection of a soul and a righteous quest for God and Christianity. He left for France.

After I while I followed and found him there. I approached him, clothed in my dark robes. I asked him... no, I begged him. I begged him to come back.

Demon, he called me. Evil sorceress. I recoiled as if struck by the pommel of his sword. Devil’s angel. Witch.

Witch.

I returned to Camelot.

To this day I can’t recount precisely when or how it happened. I do know that I loved him; I loved him as fiercely as anyone ever did, even Guinevere.

I wanted to hurt her. To make her feel pain, as I did. My opportunity arose on the form of a nasty man by the name of Mordred.

I took it, without thinking. I wouldn’t harm Arthur, just teach Guinevere a little lesson. A painful lesson.

She is suited for her convent. Best that she stay there. She shall never be forgiven. Because Lance has all but forgotten my existence; that much is certain. He goes back to his Joyous Guard, and I, again, am left to watch. To watch him in anguish and torment, an anguish that I helped to bring upon myself, as well as the good-natured souls who sat idealistically and jubilantly around a table.

Some of us may sparkle, Arthur, but those of us who don’t are destined to drown, unwillingly pulling others with us into the darkness.


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