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Morgana Pendragon hates mirrors.
She hates that she can see every version of herself before she became whatever she is now. She hates this twisted version of herself that stands before her and seems to mock her, the sickeningly sweet smile that could rot teeth, and the eyes that glimmer with mirth as she takes in her form.
She hates that she can recognize herself on good days, and hates that she doesn’t know who she’s looking at on others.
Morgana grimaces at her reflection when she sees another face take form, and then she sees Uther Pendragon.
She hates him most of all, and she hates that she can see him on some days in her own features. She hates his eyes that resemble her own, and she hates that she can recognize the hate that his eyes carry.
She hates mirrors and she hates Uther, and she hates that she has her brother’s eyes as much as her father’s….but she loves that she has something similar to her sister.
She loves her sister’s sense of justice, and she loves that they share it. She loves her kind, and she loves the magic that connects all of those like them together.
The mirror catches some of the sunlight filtering in through the window, and Morgana reaches up to touch her own face as she stares at her reflection. It looks like she is there, but her face isn’t her own.
No, her face is a mesh of people that she hates more than she loves. Morgause would say that Morgana is only seeing what her mind is allowing her to, but Morgana knows better; she is seeing her soul, and her soul is tainted with the blood of murderers who are her kin.
The person staring at her doesn’t even look like a person anymore, but Morgana knows that it is herself. She doesn’t fear herself anymore, nor the powers that are ingrained in her being.
She doesn’t fear being feared, doesn’t fear being the bane to Uther’s existence. No, she fears nothing but dying without her face. She wants to keep her face her own, but the mirror— this stupid mirror mocks her.
Morgana Pendragon hates mirrors, but she hates her guts more. If she could, she would carve out her insides and take out everything that made her and reinvent it to be only hers. She doesn’t want to be tainted— she knows she is no saint, but she wants to be tainted on her own terms. She doesn’t need Uther’s help, but she can’t change being his daughter.
The dusk is beginning to set in, and the air in the tower is shifting as the cold returns for the night. Morgana drops her hand and takes one final look at her reflection, and she feels her lips curve up in a small smile.
She could be something else entirely.
She could be anything she wanted.
So, she would be evil incarnate and rise out of the fires anew.