Morgana had been in New York for two months. Her replacement had been in a car accident and the money offered to Morgana had been too good not to go and fill in.
Now she was back and had to start from scratch settling in again.
It was also time to stop pretending. Morgana had been raised in the old ways it was true but it went much deeper than that. Morgana was descended from power, from the bloodlines of olde. Even her name was in honour of her genealogy.
In times gone by there had lived a great and wise king, and he had a sister by the name of Morgana. And Morgana had a daughter, and her daughter had been a child of power, blessed but the Goddess, raised to be High Priestess, the Lady of the Lake. And her daughter had loved a man of equal power, strength and blessing. And that blood had lived on in their child and all the way down to Morgana. Morgana who as tradition had dictated had been given to a priestess of the Goddess to be raised in the Olde ways, her Aunt Seph.
Morgana ran her finger along the crescent moon tattooed onto her forehead. She kept it hidden by make-up and her fringe. But Morgana was getting sick of hiding who she was. She had been hiding for so long now. Surely it was time to live the life she was meant to live.
Especially now. The parchment had arrived while she was away. The High Priestess, the Lady of the Lake had taken ill, deathly ill and a successor was to be named. And Morgana was among the chosen candidates.
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