As posted to
Who would you like to see get their final comeuppance? Who is it and just what would you do with them?
I suppose that I did have an ulterior motive when I posted these questions to the moderators of . In answering my own question, I would say that the list of those whom I have wanted to see get their just rewards is long and illustrious.
The one that stands out the most in my mind, however, is Morgienne, the last High Lady of the Fortunate Isle. What I sought to do to her, I did, and her end was in fact even more cruel than the one I had originally devised.
From the moment that I was brought there as a young noiviate, a wide-eyed and innocent girl wanting nothing more than to become a Priestess and Wytch, I knew. In a single glance between us we knew that we were adversaries. She rightfully sought to thwart me at every turn, even while I bowed my head and shewed myself to be one of her most gifted students. Behind my smile, I confess, I calculated. I wanted to be where she was. I wanted to be what she was – the one for Whom the Mists would part and Worlds would bend. Contrary to what the High Lady of the Fortunate Isle should do, she was cruel, perhaps it was because I was in fact half Fae, and my mother, who was also one of her Priestesses, had fallen prey to my Father. I could never be entirely a creature that she and the other Priestesses would make, and yet I had every gift that they wanted. I owed that to my Father and my Unseelie kin.
In time, because of my demeanor, Morgienne relented, and in time I earned her trust. Perhaps she even imagined that somehow I was her friend. Unfortunately for Morgienne, nothing could have been further from the truth.
My chance presented itself on Beltaine Eve upon the Island. It was determined that the honour would fall upon my shoulders to act as the Maiden Goddess to invoke the Great God . Months of planning and preparing me were undertaken and each day that drew closer to the day that I would face the one who would represent Him, i’faith, I will admit that I felt apprehensive when at last I found myself standing beneath a canopy of the ancient forest primeaval. Up until that moment, I had always felt as if I were pushing the edge of possibilities and I was ne’er quite sure any liimitation was simply only existant within myself or something that was external.
After listening to each droplet of dew that fell from the trees, and hearing animals that rustled in the foilage just beyond what she could deterimine, I felt the one who would represent Him.
His Presence was warm, waiting, and silent and it had to have been the longest time that I coulde ever could remember waiting for anything, I felt him move toward me, until at last I felt that He was standing o’er me. I coulde feel His eyes ‘pon my body, watching, studying, inspecting as if he saw through all that I am. is breathing was not unlike that of an animal, but more measured,…and perhaps just merely careful. I listened to the soft breathfalls, and the soft drip of mist ‘pon the foiliage and soft down of the forest floor, when, all at once I felt stripped bare to my very bones. The soft whispers of the trees shook like sistra, and they alone would be the only living witnesses of what would come next between us.
After the rite had been completed, after my Maiden’s blood had been spilt, I was, as ordered by Morgienne, to have taken this young man to the Great Stone Circle, and sacrifice him by my own hand. But this was my moment, and I knew that even though I might well have brought myself to do what I had been told to do, the young man was innocent and did not deserve to die. That is the story that I would like to tell myself and believe, that my cause was magnanimous only, but that would be a lie. He was merely the means to the end of my own devices. Of course, I would have to shew proof to Morgienne and the others in the form of his heart. I had arranged, however, with a local huntsman to provide me with the the heart of a stag which I could substitute instead. With a kiss, I released the young man and bade him to go. With a smile of uncertainty he left, fingering an iron amulet that I had made for him and disappeared into the cloak of night.
I am pleased to say that my deception was not discovered in time. By the time that Morgienne’s power began to wane and mine began to grow as the child within me began to grow, and by then it was far too late. Morgeinne began to look older, more threadbare, her own priestesses were beginning to doubt her ability to carry on for the good of the Fortunate Isle. Fool woman. Even as I continued to pretend compliance and the demure nature of a devoted daughter, inwardly I schemed toward her end. Arguments between the Priestesses ensued, something within the world was not right. The Beltaine Rite had been done, and I was carrying the child that would prove that wasn’t I? Everything went as it should have. No one understood. No one could begin to know of the deception. Surely no one as close to Morgienne as I, no one as skilled and as gifted as I could have miscalculated and angered the Gods. But then, this was not about “the Gods”. This was about me. This was about understanding real power and living with the consequences of my choices – just as Morgienne would live and die by hers.
On the night that I parted the Mists for the last time, I heard the bells toll, marking her death. Morgienne was dead. I would have been named High Lady of the Fortunate Isle had I stayed. I chose to walk away. Within me I held something even greater than Morgienne ever was and my gift was intact. Morgienne was simply dead– and for this I am not sorry.
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction
Word Count: 1064
Life Belongs to Sekhmet 
A very interesting tale that ye are regailing us with this eve, Fanny Fae. But I am curious as to who this lad was that gave you such an opportunity. Seems to me ye owe him much. 😉
And the child you carried? What happened to it?
Fanny sits down beside the Unicorn and lets out a long sigh. The Unicorn’s eyes are filled with innocence and are completely without guile.
I suppose I can tell you the truth, Fair One, since you are a creature of understanding. It is not fitting that I should spin my usual yarn about it the child.
I gave birth to a girl child, whom I named Maeve. I left her with another Wytch, one who was outside of the Fortunate Isle but still had access to it. Those who knew I was with child, I told that the infant was born too early, a son, whom I buried and tried hard to forget. Of course, that was to throw those who would mean harm to me or to my daughter. Two lies told, each to potentially spare a life.
Fanny gives the Unicorn a sad smile. Part of me does not know why I tell you, for so many others I have not told.
The unicorn arches her neck to look down at Fanny, her horn parting the fall of her mane, the hairs soft and fine as dandelion fluff. When she speaks, her voice is low and kind.
Perhaps you tell me because you realize that I am incapable of turning your words against you, even if you should become a threat… which I don’t believe you will, though it is plain that you are not to be underestimated. She considers for a moment, then adds, gently, Unicorns are unlike most beings, in that we never use the truth as a weapon. Not even a weapon of love.
You work like the finest of knives, twisting your way underneath the skin — at first light and insubstantial, and then you strike.
Though I have to admit that I am now curious as to further exchanges you had with this Morgienne… You paint her so briefly.
I merely painted her so briefly this time because it is a long story, in need of a time where only that interaction between she and I is the point of focus.
Since you ask, I can paint you a better and more detailed picture of Morgienne if you like. I pray you give this lady a few moments to collect her thoughts. ‘Tis a long story.
visible only to Jareth,
Re Morgienne:
Fanny is quiet for a long moment. Jareth’s question is simple enough, but as usual it is deep and probing. Between them there has always been the understanding that each could ask questions of the other that no one else would dare to ask and the answer would be honest. At least ther are as honest as either one of them would risk being.
Morgienne was High Lady of the Fortunate Isle. When I came there it was said that she had already reigned for a over a hundred years. To look at her, however, you would swear that she is no older than I am now. There were all sorts of legends about her rise to power. The ever-present whisperings of betrayal of her very own brother and her lover and even her own father were so well known, no one quite new where the legend stopped and reality began. There was also an endless stream of young priestesses who would rise in the ranks on the Fortunate Isle and reach a certain point under Morgienne’s direct tutelege, only to have them disappear or resign in shame in the end. Morgienne was cruel, but not as a decent ruler can be cruel. There was no kindness in her cruelty, and all of her actions served one purpose: and that was for her to maintain and to hang on to power as long as possible, even if it meant the end of the Fortunate Isle and things even greater than herself. To Morgienne’s mind, there was nothing greater than herself and rules and honour meant nothing.
I was determined not to be her victim, but rather to see that she was mine. Make no mistake. It was never personal for me, and the whole escapade was never anything other than the sheer survival and power for its own sake. I didn’t hate Morgienne. I just hated that what she represented was not an optimal use of her personal power or the power of her office. It was my Will against hers.