Part Twenty Four

Nigel’s hands moved with a practice borne of another lifetime. His fingers found all four shallow depressions set into the runes. Closing his eyes, he allowed the magic of the universe pulse through him, offering his physical body as conduit to the supernatural realities of his past.

The words flowed from his tongue unbidden, a secret memory embedded in his psyche well over a millennium ago. "Mon monde est venu le plein cercle. Mon amour rejette mon coeur et je suis cassé - violé. Libérez mon esprit de sa prison ainsi il peut libérer mon coeur et âme et m'accorder mon destin.." The modern and the ancient minds worked in symbiotic perfection, translating the thought: My world has come full circle. My love rejects my heart and I am broken - violated. Release my spirit from its prison thus it can free my heart and soul and grant me my destiny.

The words were equal part spell and prayer to the pagan gods, to the Christian God, to any deity inclined to listen. The Lady of the Lake rejected him in Camelot, betraying him without a second though.

Painful truths haunted memories never meant to meet. The lady would never love him, not in all of his lifetimes. Bitterness poured through him like the boiling fat from a cauldron, destroying everything it touched. Merlin might be here only for a little while, but in that time, he would take his revenge on the fickle lady whose heart was sealed off forever.

His face hardened, knotting in grief. He had lived an unnatural lifetime, frozen on the cusp of consciousness for over a thousand years, dimly aware of the passage of time. The pain in him swirled into a tangible reality, its icy fingers tearing him apart even as it collected in the pit of his stomach. He reached beneath his shirt, his hand closing around the magical dagger. He knew it before he saw it, understood that it was formed of his own psychological bile. It was the incarnation of all the years of loss, bound up in a compact form.

The knife flew from his fingers of its own volition, embedding itself into Sydney’s midsection without being aimed. The blade screamed as it sliced through the air, then through bone and sinew.

His bitterness and anger vented, Merlin slowly came to understand that he had just murdered an innocent woman, a complete stranger, just because she didn’t love him.

And Nigel was beside himself with grief, to the point that he collected the dagger with the full intent and capability of turning it on himself.

Go to Part Twenty Five.


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