Chapter Text
Morgana is dark and twisted from her many years of existence. She is self-aware enough to realize this. She has seen too many betrayals, too many lives lost, too many kingdoms fall to the hands of men who would sooner save their own skin than the lives of thousands. She knows— with absolute certainty— People. Are. Bad.
And then she meets Gwen.
Gwen is everything she didn’t know existed anymore. She is light and warmth, purity and kindness, and Morgana feels as if she has been gifted something more precious than all her lifetimes combined.
None of them mattered, she supposes, before this one.
***
1
This party is a dreadful bore.
Morgana has been to a lot of parties in her lifetimes. She has been in dazzling ballrooms and legendary afterparties, in ritual gatherings and revered soirees. And still she hoped this college Halloween bash would spark some life into her. So to speak.
While not the most sophisticated of places, Morgana has always appreciated the energy young people bring. They scream and run and laugh, at the very slightest of things, and she can’t even remember what decade she last had such little care in the world. It’s intoxicating.
What’s even more intoxicating is the smell.
No, Morgana, she thinks to herself. No hunting tonight. No hunting any night, anymore. She’s made up her mind. It’ll take time, of course, to become accustomed to this misery, this constant starvation… but she is tired of being Bad, like everyone else in this world. She is already doomed, but who says she can’t take back a little power?
“Hey.” A blonde girl dressed as Tinkerbell, complete with glittery wings in the back, taps her shoulder. Morgana narrows her eyes at the drink sloshing in her glass and prays, for Tink’s sake, that it does not spill on her. “I just wanted to tell you that your costume is awesome.”
Morgana smiles. The dress she has on tonight is one of her favorites from her royal collection— slimming and tight to her figure, with a gold leaf belt and halterneck. In her favorite color. Blood red.
“Thank you,” she preens, adjusting her headpiece and updo. She knew she didn’t come to this party for nothing—
“You play a really good Elena. One of the best Vampire Diaries cosplays I’ve seen!”
Morgana came to this party for nothing. If she weren’t an honorable woman of her word, not to mention stubborn as hell, she would have made Tinkerbell an appetizer in retribution.
The Vampire Diaries. She’s never been more disrespected in her life.
Despite the fact that some say she is a vision of glamour herself, vampirism is anything but romantic. It is a cruel life to live. It’s disgusting. They are the opposite of human. Every vampire story these days does not focus on the horrors of the life— it focuses on the love. No one bothers to mention that vampirism isn’t about forever love. It’s about being alone forever.
***
Her belt keeps slipping, and it’s very irritating.
But it’s her fault, Gwen supposes, for insisting on wearing authentic tools in her blacksmith costume. But if she came in this place with plastic props she’d never be able to call herself a history enthusiast (and student) again— she’s always thought Halloween was the perfect opportunity to live like those reenactments she watches but never gets to participate in.
She goes around the room slowly, saying hi to everyone she sees, because to her surprise she thinks she knows just about everyone here. Not that she considers herself someone who has a lot of friends, but it’s not like she’s had any ill will with any of them. She likes them all, and is happy to greet everyone.
Well. She knows almost everyone.
Everyone except for the tall, beautiful woman in the corner over there, looking absolutely flawless and pretending she doesn’t know it. She has pale skin and raven curls elegantly and purposefully flowing out of an updo, and dear gods Gwen can see her bright ocean eyes even from across the room.
The only thing she can do is stop in her place for a few moments. Something in her gut flutters and pushes her forward, so that she cannot help but stand near this woman. Gwen has never in her life been in such a trance.
She’s never made efforts to particularly make friends before— it always just kind of occurred before she recognized what was happening in the first place— but she realizes now, after one single glance, that she would go to the ends of the earth to be this otherworldly woman’s friend.
Gwen squeezes past groups of chattering students, dodging greetings and requests to play what has now been renamed as Skull Pong, so she can meet this stunning woman. It’s only up close that she really realizes what she’s wearing— not any old thing you’d wear to play dress-up. Those gold leaf detailings… there’s no mistaking that’s real gold. The fabric is rich, and silky, and that headpiece… this looks like an actual historical piece. Something not quite fit for a queen but definitely a highly valued royal member. Gods, where did she even get that?
“Whoa!” Gwen feels her forehead slam into someone’s chest. She looks up, and there is her acquaintance Nimueh.
Nimueh smiles slowly. Something about her has always been a little unsettling to Gwen, but every time she thinks it she feels awful. Nimueh has never been anything but kind to her.
“Guinevere.” Gwen cringes a little at the use of her full name. “Hello, darling, it’s been quite a while.” Nimueh turns her head to look back at the woman, and then looks at Gwen again. “But clearly you are in the middle of something important. Don’t let me interrupt.”
“Oh— no, you weren’t—”
“Sure, darling. Would you like me to introduce you?”
Gwen blushes, but nods. Yes. An in.
With a small hand on Gwen’s shoulder, Nimueh guides her over. “Morgana!”
The woman— Morgana— smiles, and it takes Gwen’s breath away. “Nims,” she says, air-kissing her cheeks. “Lovely party. And your Bloody Marys are simply divine.”
The look they share is almost secretive. Is she… intruding?
But then Nimueh tugs on one of Gwen’s curls, in a gesture to grab her attention, and Gwen blushes as Morgana lays her pretty ocean eyes right on her.
“Morgana, this is Guinevere. She’s a history student. Guinevere, this is my dear friend Morgana, who is quite the history buff herself. I believe you two will get along well. Give me a scream if you need anything.”
And just like that, she vanishes into the crowd.
They are left with nothing more than sweaty palms and awkward pauses, and Gwen presses her lips together, taking another survey around the room. It of course is not long before her eyes return to Morgana. There is nothing else in the room worth looking at.
Morgana, she knows for certain, has not taken her eyes off Gwen a single time. Chills flutter against her skin. It’s unnerving. It’s thrilling.
“So,” Gwen starts, pushing a stray hair off her forehead. “I was actually coming over here to talk to you anyway.”
“Is that so?” Her voice is rich and velvet. A carefully trimmed eyebrow pops up, matching her sly smirk. “Guinevere?”
Gwen nearly gasps. She can feel her eyes widen— to her embarrassment— before she starts stuttering. “I-it’s Gwen, please, and I— Well, I— you know— you just look—”
Morgana’s face falls, much like the way Gwen’s heart meets her stomach. “For Avalon’s sake, you must be joking. I have only lowered my dignity enough to watch one blasphemous episode of The Vampire Diaries. And just so you know, Gwen, it’s all wrong—”
“Oh, I- I know,” Gwen interrupts, surprised but pleased to finally have this conversation with someone, even if its out of nowhere. “All of the historical bits are one inaccuracy after another. It’s an entertaining show, though.”
She huffs. “I’m sure.”
“...Why are we talking about The Vampire Diaries?”
Morgana’s face clears, and she blinks. “My costume..?”
Gwen blushes. “Oh, sorry! I was just going to say that I liked your costume. And to ask where you got it because it looks really authentic. Nothing about TVD.”
There is nothing but silence from Morgana, and even though the room is pumped and noisy, Gwen can’t resist rambling.
“I just— I’m sorry, that’s weird. It’s just that I’m in school because I hope to be a curator, and I’ve never seen anyone actually wear something so close to the real thing, especially not here, and also— also the fangs are pretty cool.”
Morgana blinks again, and she thinks to herself, Oh Lord, one of these days you will have to learn how to speak to women, but then Morgana smiles and all thoughts go out the window.
“Where did you come from?” she breathes, nearly involuntarily.
Morgana smiles wider. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
2
Something is different about this one.
Over the years, Morgana has gotten pretty good at reading people. At sniffing out the real person inside. But what she finds in Gwen is something she hasn’t seen since… maybe ever. Pure has not been a word in Morgana’s vocabulary. Not until she met her.
It’s hard to describe, but the short of it is Morgana can sense that Gwen is something rare.
Morgana buries her head in her hands.
And she would taste so, so sweet.
***
When Morgana wakes up the next morning, she wants to run herself through with a sword. Despite what people love to claim in the media, vampires do in fact get drunk. Morgana got very drunk last night.
Hangovers are a mortal thing, thank the Avalon shores, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t look back on the night before and cringe just like the rest of them.
From what she can tell, the events of the night went as followed:
Someone pulled Gwen away from her to go dance.
Morgana glares at said person and goes to get another drink.
A few people she knows came over to chat with her.
Gwen was released from dancing and made her way back to Morgana, who by this time had taken several tequila shots and was now nursing a Bloody Mary— clearly not in her right mind. It’s very important to note that part.
“Oh, the school thing’s going well for me, I think,” Gwen was saying, sipping on her cocktail— something called a Black Death. “As far as my marks go. The only thing is my dad fell ill a little while ago, and my brother is nowhere to be found, so I’m going to have to apply for more jobs to help out, I suppose. I already work at the library, but they don’t pay a whole lot.”
“Wouldn’t getting more jobs hinder your studies?” Morgana asked. Already she was blown away by her sweet, casual generosity. As if being selfish wasn’t even a choice.
“I’m sure I’d manage,” she’d said, with a shy smile that told Morgana she wasn’t the type to complain. She pushed a stray curl behind her ear.
Morgana doesn’t know how it happened, but the next thing she knew she was offering Gwen a job at her place. “It’s not pretty, or glamorous, but I do need a groundskeeper to tend to my flowers— I simply don’t have the time anymore, and a home without a bed of roses simply isn’t a home at all, don’t you think so?”
Gwen smiled and giggled nervously. “Ah… I don’t know… that’s awful generous of you, but—”
“But? But what?” Morgana downed the rest of her Bloody Mary— real blood and alcohol was an addicting flavor combination— and set the glass on a nearby counter. “Come and tend to the flowers for a couple hours, then go about your studies. That’s it. Easy peasy.”
Gwen pinched her eyebrows together, looking entirely too troubled for Morgana’s liking. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Morgana. We only just met, and besides, it’s a lot of money— I don’t think one job will cut it.”
Morgana leaned over and whispered an amount to Gwen. It should be sufficient, but she could bump it up if need be.
Gwen’s eyes went wide as saucers. She nearly fainted and immediately declined at first, and Morgana should’ve left it at that, except for some reason she just couldn’t. She needed to help this girl. So she assures Gwen that it’s not a big deal, that she has more money than she knows what to do with and if this amount went missing from her bank account daily she still wouldn’t notice. She might as well use it on someone well deserving of it.
Eventually, Gwen gave in. She wouldn’t stop thanking her the rest of the night.
Morgana sits up in bed now, rubbing her temples. What was she thinking, inviting her here? To her old gothic mansion she can’t explain, a constant temptation hanging over her head? And what would she do if, say, one of her “friends” paid a visit? Nimueh was tame enough, and not always as cold hearted as their brothers and sisters, but even she occasionally took sacrifices. And… oh gods, what if Morgause showed up? This whole thing is a mess.
She can’t help but think back to the way Gwen only denied the job with her when she discovered Morgana was definitely overpaying her. What did that say about her? It said that Morgana better watch herself. She doesn’t need yet another complication in her life. She doesn’t need another person to lose.
***
Writing is hard, and unfortunately, after centuries of practice, it’s the only activity she still hasn’t gotten any better at. Every time she starts a new story, she thinks Oh, this will be easy. It never is.
And just as she’s gotten an idea of where to go next in her story, the very minute in fact, the doorbell rings. Morgana sighs deeply.
The doorbell sounds an elegant, haunting melody that touches chandeliers and echoes through the high ceilings. Although she hates company, she loves that sound. It makes it almost worth being social.
Unfortunately, Morgana does not have super speed like every tv vamp ever. She wishes she did, in this big ass house. But instead it takes her several minutes to move from the study to the front door, and in that time, whoever it is (Gwen? gods) has rung it again.
When she opens the door, her suspicions are confirmed. Gwen is standing there with her brown ringlets in pigtails, beaming on her doorstep like a ray of sun. Morgana’s heart twinges a little at how out of place she looks, just with that simple action.
When she sees Morgana, she perks up, shovel in hand. In her other hand, she holds up a bag of potting soil, as if to prove to Morgana that she’s here to work.
Morgana cannot help but let her heart swell at the sight of it. Swallowing down feelings she can’t even begin to unpack right now, she smiles at Gwen and gestures for her to come inside.
“Thank you again for doing this for me, Morgana, I know you didn’t have to help me out like this—”
She quiets immediately when Morgana rests a hand on her shoulder. She is sure to be gentle, but still Gwen tenses, nearly chattering like caught prey. It makes Morgana itch to pounce.
But she is good now.
“Darling, it’s my pleasure. My old gardener is… not available for these tasks anymore. You’re doing me a favor.”
Gwen smiles at her knowingly, and at first her heart threatens to give out at the fact that she may know…. And then she realizes she’s an imbecile, and Gwen is referring to the idea of her doing Morgana a favor.
Gods, she’s losing her mind.
***
In the back of the manor, the weeds have taken over in the garden since her gardener Kazuna became dinn— missing. It is quite a mess back here, more far gone than she had predicted even (she has not been back here since that incident. The shame was too great).
But Gwen doesn’t say anything about the obvious aching chore that is about to occur, just smiles and pushes up her sleeves. “I’m on it, My Lady,” she jokes, but Morgana jolts, feeling memories from a different time— one she forgot she had even been a part of. She smiles. It was simpler then.
“Thank you,” she tells her, and leaves her to it, retreating to her study where she is determined to not think about the angel in her backyard and write.
***
What Morgana intends to write is a thrilling narrative on the downfalls of immortality and one (stunning) vampire’s struggle for self-discovery. What she ends up writing is a romance about a lonely vampire who falls in love with the groundskeeper.
She is doomed.
When Morgana comes out to make herself a cup of tea hours later, she takes solace in the fact that Gwen will no longer be there. There will be no need to control herself around her, and for the night she will be free—
Except Gwen is also standing in her kitchen. She’s wiping off the counters. Her sink full of dirty mugs is now empty, and when Gwen looks up, it’s with a shy but prideful smile.
She thinks she has done something good. Morally, perhaps she has. But in fact she has no idea what she’s done— worming your way into a vampire’s heart is as dangerous as finding your shelter in the mouth of a lion. And after all that she’s seen? After all she’s done? Morgana can think of no easier way than genuine kindness.
“Hello, My Lady,” she giggles teasingly. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, I just thought— well, it felt wrong— I couldn’t just— and you—”
Morgana, despite her thoughts, still smiles, because it’s Gwen, and it’s impossible not to smile at Gwen. “Relax. Speak. I won’t bite.” Yet, she thinks. And, oh, the most lovely shade of pink graces her cheeks as blood rushes through her veins… Morgana’s mouth waters.
“We both know you’re grossly overpaying me, Morgana. That is way too much money for me to pull some weeds and water some flowers. I thought maybe I could help around in here, too… do you have anyone for that job?”
She raises her eyebrows. “No.”
Gwen beams. “Great! Then it’s settled.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”
“Oh, come on… with this big place? No help? If you’re worried I’m going to, I don’t know, take something, I wouldn’t—”
“No!” Morgana clears her throat. Tries again at a normal pitch. “Of course not.”
Gwen smiles. “I just want to thank you for what you’re doing for me.” She steps closer to Morgana and gently grabs the mug in her hands, slipping her fingers underneath Morgana’s in order to take their place. Gwen’s hands are so unbelievably soft, and she cannot remember the last time someone has touched her so tenderly, intentionally or not. “I’ll make you more tea, then,” Gwen says, voice just barely above a whisper. Then she steps away, and Morgana somehow knows that she will not catch her eyes for the rest of the night.
3
The weeks that follow are as inspiriting as they are excruciating. On the one hand, there’s a beautiful woman in her house every day for the majority of the day. On the other, she may be looking for a place where she can attend an AA meeting for bloodsuckers.
The fact is Gwen trusts too easily. Morgana can see in her eyes that Gwen has no inkling that she will hurt her. Poor thing doesn’t have reliable instincts. Because Morgana is always ready— while she exists, she is barely alive this way. Finding animal blood in a city like this that can actually provide equal sustenance to a human is an unattainable goal. Her mind knows that, and most importantly, so does her body. And Gwen is a constant target.
Of course, she is familiar with the feeling of being hungry for someone’s blood. She feels the urge every time she comes in contact with the living, and has for centuries.
But with Gwen, there’s a new feeling, something she can’t quite place.
With Gwen, there’s an entirely new type of hunger.