Stardust and Darkness

Prologue

Queen Morgana of Avalon: The Fae, The Healer, The Goddess... of Wrath. She had single-handedly won countless battles, destroyed endless armies and decimated humanities greatest achievement; their attempted xenocide on all things magic. So why had standing upright suddenly become a hard task for the most powerful magic user ever to exist? No I don't mean Merlin that old, dead, half demon, dragon fuc***... weirdo Is beyond overrated.

>—>•

As this fire rages and the dust falls, let me tell you a story of love, war and glass thrones. This all happened in a time long after mine and in a world far from yours, so as I spin this tale like the threads of fate, we are all destined to be observers in this twisted tale of woe.

It went something like this:

There once existed an annoyingly melodramatic prince who was cursed to have a decaying touch to complement his jealous soul. To make matters worse there was an irritatingly perfect aristocratic heiress whose only curse was that she took everything she wanted, she truly was a greedy soul... The end.

According to mother it's not detailed enough... She can be so rude.
You can also have a poem I guess?

The moon was shaped in a Crescent and Daphne's were in season,
The sight was shadowed and luminescent which is why it seemed as if it lacked reason.
Perfection can often be quite the depressant,
Is that why the old prince was so incessant?
After all when looking to feel effervescent why not be like the banished one and just commit treason.

Oh you wanted an actual story?
It'll make starry eyes happy...
So fine I guess.
...
...
...
Call me dove it's what he does anyway.
Oops I forgot to write his story,
Where was I?

>—>-•

Avalon, The isle of magic. A nation of beauty with rivers that ran as clear as it's skies, a nation of peace where humans and magic coexisted with so little strife that war could only ever be considered a silly fantasy from an overly patriotic knight. It was a nation of prosperity, it was a nation of chivalry and just as it was five hundred years ago it was still the last place where magic could be performed without fear of persecution. If nothing else it was by far Morgana's greatest achievement.

Queen Morgana Le Fay had been hailed a goddess by the people of Avalon and yet here she was no deity but instead cradling herself into a ball on the floor like a nameless peasant. It had taken this truly humbling moment for her to remember that the title of 'Goddess' had been an honorary form of endearment rather than a fact.

Proven even more so by her current predicament, the great goddess was lying on the cold marble floor of her once peaceful manor cringing from the sudden influx of sound which had only served to further fuel her migraine.

The first headache that she had ever experienced had defeated her at age One Thousand and Four hundred or was it Five hundred? she couldn't remember or she didn't bother to count— when you reach the big millennia you can often lose track of how many winters you've seen, that was her usual excuse.

Regardless the point was that her head hurt, a lot, and the screaming maids didn't help.

"My Queen, you are on the floor?"
"Ahhh! The great goddess has been defeated."
"What shall we do?"

Morgana made her displeasure known in the form of frustrated complaints, "Dost any one of thou hast reason for why myself, an immortal elven enchantress, am currently experiencing a headache for the first time."

The maids spoke in hushed whispers attempting to quickly find a tangible reason that might sound constructive, The Queen felt her patience waver, the hushed whispers froze mid sentence, and Morgana's wavering patience shifted into an awaiting cataclysm as the rhythmic clacking of heels began to echo across the marble floor.