The last day of Morgan’s life dawned gray and dismal, absurdly appropriate for her imminent death. Ten years ago, her Seer’s Sight had foretold her death on this day, and her infernal Sight rarely failed her. She had told no one about the awful prophecy, not even her powerful sorcerer father. At five and twenty today, she was prepared to pass on to the Afterlife.
Not that I have a bloody choice. With a catch in her throat, Morgan swatted the golden velvet drapery aside. Gripping the cold stone sill, she stared out her sitting room window. Chills seeped into her as the morning sunlight lost its challenge to the thick fog ghosting the courtyard’s scattered structures. The buildings on the hillside were almost invisible.
“Accursed fog!” She thumped a curled hand on her thigh. “Perfect day, perfect death.” Icy jaws of anguish clamped down on her insides. Damn the Fates. Why had her Sight not revealed more? In some small way, she had prepared for this day. Yet, who ever prepared for death? Her stomach knotted as questions kept rising like thirsty mosquitos.
Deliberately, she closed off her mind to her fate, instead diverting her attention to the vision that had flung her out of a fitful sleep that morning. Had she dreamed last night, or was it a foretelling? Who was the tall, handsome sorcerer who held her in his arms and danced with her on a moonlit beach below a lush jungle? Fire magic had sizzled between them, gyrating and tangoing together in perfect harmony. Was it a fanciful longing her mind conjured up on her final day on Avalon? Fanciful until the horrid foresight at the dream’s end turned her tingles of desire into the stabbing pain of prophecy.
Even now, the foresight jabbed an ache behind her eyes, refusing to release its treacherous hold on her mind. The wild storm, the drowning wave, the unfamiliar man’s desolation, and the swirling sea of despair as his internal fire winked out in the engulfing water. She remembered pressing her lips to his, giving him the breath of life until the ocean claimed him and he drifted away, a wry smile locked onto his face. Flailing about in the watery grave, she pushed against the currents to reach him, all to no avail. She had strained to peer through the murky waters, spied a spot of light clutched in her dream sorcerer’s hand...and the face of horrendous malevolence met her gaze. Gleeful, howling laughter ripped her out of sleep, her body burning with desire, a cry of terror on her lips. Sweat-drenched, Morgan had awoken shivering in her cold, lonely bed.
“I will never learn what the vision meant.” She shoved away from the window and added peat to the embers in the fireplace. The instant she straightened from the slate hearth, the heavy door to her adjoining bedchamber swung into the stone wall. Her pulse quickened.
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