3.32 – Cross the Divide

Author’s note: I know some things are not accurately portrayed here. It’s the sims. My cc box is limited, and I used the tools that I have. Forgive. ❤

Morgana had waited six months to see her coven again. In many ways, it had felt like a lifetime.

Now, she could travel back and forth freely. Morgana could finally indulge the witch inside of her without abandoning Arthur. She would not have to give up anything. She could do both. The sorceress could travel to either world at will, freely-

And the more Morgana floated back and forth, the more the divide began to grate on her.

She didn’t want to choose.

She loved them both.

The sorceress could sense the divide. The enormous chasm that lay between the world of Camelot, that she had always called home, and the sanctuary of her coven, that she longed to be a part of. Their differences could not be greater. The two were like night and day, polar opposites even without the added presence of magick. Overcoming that chasm and uniting those worlds seemed all but impossible.

But she had to try.

Morgana wanted to bring them together more than anything. She wanted to show Arthur a world of magick without malice. She longed to free Morgause from a world that condemned them out of fear.

She was so close. Morgana could feel it.

She was so close to being whole.

As the sorceress let her gaze trail around the clearing, her eye fell on a figure to her left. Monoroe stood just outside the sanctuary. The Huntress was balancing on one leg, breathing slowly and meditating as she soaked in the afternoon sunlight.

Something about her… was different. Even from the rest of her coven. Monoroe carried herself with a strength and grace that reminded her of a lynx. It wasn’t graceful and feminine like the women at court. It wasn’t trained and composed like the knights, either.

It was wild. Primal. Unbound by the rules and expectations that Morgana had moulded herself to as she grew up. The Huntress moved with a strange, quiet confidence that she had never seen before. Back in Murkwood, Monoroe had overpowered Emrys and Lancelot without batting an eyelash. Like they had been nothing but flies. Morgana had never seen such a raw display of strength before. The Huntress was incredibly powerful.

While she…

It’s not enough.

She had to learn. Morgana looked back to her left, wondering how to breach the subject with-

Huh?

Where did she…?

As Morgana looked around in confusion, she could feel a bit of gravel fall on her shoulder. The sorceress looked up.

“You were staring.”

“I was thinking,” Morgana replied. The Huntress raised a single eyebrow. Monoroe dropped down from the standing stone, landing next to her.

“Oh? Go on, then. What’s on your mind?”

An invitation.

When Morgana was a child, Millicent had dismissed her every time she wanted to practice magick. The elderly woman had reasoned that Morgana was still too young. That it wasn’t the right time. That it was too dangerous.
She wouldn’t teach her.

Something told her that the Huntress would not brush her off like Millicent did.
“How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Monoroe smirked. “Sneak up on you?”

Morgana shook her head.
“No. The things you did back in Murkwood. You took on three people at once without breaking a sweat.  I can’t cast anything without feeling the strain on my body. How did you use so much magick without it hurting you?”

“Oh. That,” the Huntress replied. “Simple. That power wasn’t mine. It was given to me by Eurydice.”
“The Dryad?”
“Yes. The upside of being bound to a powerful Fae is that you’ll never lack for spirit. The recoil won’t harm you as much, either.”

“The downside… well, you saw that with your own eyes.”

The sorceress could feel Monoroe brush against her leg as she leaned back.
“Anyway,” she said, “I hope seeing that didn’t scare you away from the forest forever. Murkwood really is quite lovely, you know. When mum and I aren’t destroying the place in a rage-filled rampage, that is.”
“…Mum?”
“Eurydice. The monster that tried to cut you all in half.”

Morgana looked over at the Huntress with a single raised eyebrow.
“That thing is your mother?”

“Yes. Not by birth, obviously- I’d be a lot leafier if that were the case. But she did raise me. Eurydice took me in as a toddler and cared for me until I came of age. When I was very small, she took me away from my parents and swapped me out with a changeling.”

What?

“You… you were replaced?”

Monoroe nodded, a strange expression playing on her face.
“Yes. She took me from my childhood home and bound me to her,” she said as she pointed at her right eye. “I’ve spent most of my childhood hidden away in her grove. And most of my teenage years roaming through the woods. Eventually, I became strong enough to leave.”

“That’s… that’s horrible,” Morgana muttered. The Huntress shrugged in response.
“Not really. I had the entire forest to myself, you know? I could track and hunt whatever I wanted to. When I met Morgause, Eurydice didn’t stop me from joining her coven, either. Being bound to a Dryad even lets me command the plants around me. The only downside is that she can take control of me whenever she wants to. Not exactly ideal, but… well, it could have been a lot worse.”
“You… you don’t hate her for that?”
“No. I don’t.”

“But… what about your parents?” Morgana asked, baffled. “She took you away. She separated you from your family.”

Morgana watched as the smile slowly vanished from Monoroe’s expression. Her brow furrowed. The Huntress let out a sigh, looking up at the sky with a strange, distant look in her eyes.
“Morgana, do you know why the Fae take children?”
“…to eat them?” she answered hesitantly. The Huntress frowned at her answer.
“I won’t deny that some of them might try. But there is never just one truth to a story, you know.”
“What do you mean?”

Monoroe rose up from the bench and took a few steps forward. Morgana watched as the Huntress raised her arms, reaching for the piece of purple cloth around her chest.

“Wait, what are you-”

The next moment, the dark, cloth fell to Monoroe’s waist, and the rest of her sentence got stuck in her throat.

What was revealed was an old scar that Morgana had never seen before. The gash was deep, running almost six inches across her back. It had healed very badly and left a thick line of scar tissue.

“I got this when I was three years old,” Monoroe explained. “My birth mother struck me with a fire iron.”

“She had a habit of locking me outside.”

“My relationship with Eurydice is… extremely complicated,” Monoroe sighed. “She’s a Fae. If she gets the chance, she will try to keep me. I don’t want to be near her because of it.”

“But I do love her,” the Huntress added, slowly re-tying her top as she sat back down. “Despite everything. She’s my mother. I guess you can call us an extremely dysfunctional family.”

Her last words were meant as a joke, but Morgana could sense the conflicting emotions that simmered underneath. She knew that there was something else there. If it were any other subject, Morgana would have kept digging at those emotions- but this time, her mind was filled with a very different focus.

She couldn’t leave it be.

She had to know.

“But… what about the child that replaced you?” Morgana asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The Fae child. The one that Eurydice left behind. What happened to them?”

“Did the child know they replaced you?”

“Did they know that they have magick? That they can change shape?”

“Did… did they know they’re a Fae at all?”

But the Huntress slowly shook her head.
“Morgana… you misunderstand. That’s not how it works.”

“Children that are taken by the Fae are not replaced by other children. It’s not possible. A changeling doesn’t learn to shapeshift into human form until well after it becomes an adult.”

“They do it willingly. A changeling cannot be forced to replace a human, regardless of whose place they are taking. Turning into that human is their choice. They know what they are doing – they do it deliberately.”

“Why? Why would they do that?”

“The reason could be anything. To punish an abusive parent. To repay a debt to another Fae. To spend their final days as an elder causing whatever mayhem they can, or to wreak havoc on a human that they have a grudge against. Their reasons are their own.”

“But they can mimic anyone.”

–

The burial ground was located in a corner of town, tucked away in a small clearing between buildings. The whole structure was barely more than fifteen feet across. As Arthur and Guinevere approached, the sounds of the city around them slowly vanished. Chatter grew distant. The yells and laughter of the market faded into the background. Soon, all Arthur could hear was the chittering of birds, together with the gentle rustling of the trees around him.

Arthur could see Guinevere’s expression cloud over as they reached the burial ground. Her steps grew hesitant. The maidservant eventually stopped, looking down on a small gravestone that was surrounded by white flowers.

“Is this it?”
“Yes,” Guinevere muttered. Arthur looked down on the marker in disbelief.
“It’s… it’s so small.”

“It’s all we could give him.”

Arthur could feel the heavy weight behind those words. He could sense the lingering guilt in Guinevere’s voice. The Crown Prince looked down on the tiny gravestone, silently taking it in.

He’d met this child.

He didn’t even remember his face.

The gravestone was small, but Arthur could tell that it had been lovingly tended to. There was not a single smudge on it. No moss had gathered at the corners. No dirt had covered the base of it over time. The tiny marker stood surrounded by flowers, like it was enveloped in a gentle, loving embrace.

It looked peaceful.

It looked right.

Arthur looked back at Guinevere from over his shoulder. She’d slowly stepped back. He could see her glancing back and forth between him and the gravestone.
“I remember what you told me,” he said softly. “Back in the music room, before everything that happened at the tournament… you warned me. You told me that the dead deserve our respect. And you were right. Back in Scarborough, too. You were right about all of it.”

Guinevere didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Arthur could see her emotions reflected on her face, raw and visible for the world to see.
“My uncle hoards forbidden knowledge just as much as he hoards spies,” Arthur continued. “He’s predictable with his hiding places, too. After what happened with Bayard… I did some research. About the dead. And what we used to do for them.”

Finding what he was looking for had not been easy. It had been even more difficult to find a justification for looking for that knowledge in the first place – at least in a way that Agravaine would accept. But in the end, it had been worth it. The Crown Prince had found what he needed.

And, much like the realisation at the tournament… Arthur’s findings had been nothing like what he had imagined.

In a way, he had to thank Agravaine for his obsession with magic. Arthur never would have learned if not for his uncle’s compulsive hoarding of everything that he loathed. But he did. Over the course of that Winter, Arthur slowly learned it all. About the reason why Camelot had changed its treatment of the dead, and why the funeral rites of old had had such a strong connection to magic. Why so many still clung to sorcery when it came to a person’s final rites.

For centuries, Albion had treated it as an abomination. As dark, corrupted rituals, carried out by sorcerers in a twisted thirst for power. As a perversion of everything that the cycle of life stood for. They had treated it like something vile.

But it wasn’t like that. Not for everyone. Twisted as the concept of magic was… this time, the cause of it did not come from malice.

It came from compassion.

It is through the teachings of the Goddess that we have learned how to care for those who have passed. At its core, life and death are not separate – they are a cycle, flowing into each other and maintaining the balance of this world. They affect one another. They rely on each other.

One cannot exist without the other.

And while the rituals that are practiced across the world differ, they all achieve the same ends. They all come from the same core.

The same heart.

Funeral rites and rituals, as well as mourning for those who have passed, has meaning. It soothes the powerful emotions and trauma that accompany death. It wards against the darkness and allows the body and spirit to gradually return to the natural world.

It offers comfort and closure to those who need it most. Especially to the ones who had to say goodbye too soon. It helps soothe those who are left behind. 

But life and death are connected. One cannot exist without the other. And it is in death that the connection to life becomes most apparent, because proper care by the living also helps the souls that cross the divide. Until the body has returned to the natural world, the flow of spirit allows for a connection to persist between body and soul. A conduit.

One remains aware of the other, even after crossing the divide.

And as that soul makes its way through the darkness, tormented by its own demons, our memories, thoughts and feelings can reach the soul on its journey. Our tears and words of kindness can reach the ones we love, even across the divide. We can provide comfort. We can guide. Through the flow of spirit, those who are left behind can help their loved one reach final peace. 

We remember the dead so their souls do not get lost. So they do not fade away before they reach the Goddess. And we tend to their remains to maintain the connection to their soul for as long as possible.

That is why we pray over the graves of the dead and light candles in their memory. 

For a final bit of kindness… on the hardest journey they will ever make. 

The Crown Prince turned around, looking back at Guinevere over his shoulder.
“You believe in it too, don’t you?”

“Believe w-what?”
“That they can still hear us,” Arthur replied. “Even after they’ve passed away. That we can console them and talk to them. That we can still reach them through magic, wherever they are.”

Arthur looked back down on the little gravestone in front of him. It had been lovingly tended to, kept and gently maintained throughout the seasons. Not a single smudge of dirt was on it.

“Camelot does not allow the use of magic,” he said softly. “Or condone the beliefs that surround it. In whatever form or shape it takes. We all know that. But…”
Arthur’s smile widened as he sank through his knees.
“Just this once… I think I can make an exception.”

“Hello, Michael. I’m sorry I couldn’t give this to you when it mattered.”

Arthur tucked his legs underneath him, coming to rest in front of the tiny gravestone. The Crown Prince took a moment to compose himself. He had never done this before. Not once. Not even at his mother’s coffin.

He had never felt the need to.

Arthur had felt that way about a lot of things.

“My name is Arthur,” he smiled. “I’m a friend of your sister. Guinevere. She has only told me a little bit about you so far, but you sound like you were a really sweet kid when you were alive. I bet that we could have bonded over that cake. I used to have a huge sweet tooth when I was your age. I still do.”

“But enough about me. Did you know that Guinevere is working at the castle?” Arthur continued, glancing back at the maidservant over his shoulder. “She looks after a Princess. She has her own room next to my sister, and people rely on her every day. I don’t know if she’s ever told you that. But I bet that you would be really proud of her if you knew how much she is depended on.”

“Your sister works really hard, you know,” the Crown Prince said softly. “She has to get up before dawn and look after all of us every single day. She has to deal with my sister’s whims whenever they come up, too. Whether it’s getting dragged off to another city out of nowhere, or having to hide where her mistress ran off to and lie to the King in the process. It’s not easy.”

“And even with all that, she still has time to teach a spoiled fopdoodle like me how to bake. I think that’s incredible. I bet she was just as sweet with you.”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the chocolate cake in person, Michael. I’m sorry that we couldn’t give you what you needed to grow up. But I’m sure that Guinevere did all that she could with you, too. I’m sure…”

“I’m sure she looked after you until the end.”

Slowly, Arthur stood back up. Some of the earth and dirt had gotten stuck to his trousers. The Crown Prince decided not to brush it off. He left the offering there, silently voicing a goodbye as he moved back towards Guinevere.

The maidservant had sat down on the nearest bench. Her eyes were red and puffy, and he could see the remnants of tears as she hastily wiped her face.
“Are you all right?”
“Y…yeah,” she muttered. Arthur did not have to look carefully to know that she was lying. He sat down next to her, tactfully looking in the other direction as she tried to compose herself.

Eventually, Arthur spoke up.
“This is a lovely resting place, Guinevere. Really. You come here a lot, don’t you?”
She nodded. Her nose and cheeks were still flushed and the maidservant didn’t seem to be able to stop the tears from dripping down.
“Thank you for letting me come here,” he continued. “I know that this was very personal. And I know that it doesn’t mean much, but… Michael sounds like he was a wonderful brother.”
“He… he was,” she sniffed. “Better than I was a-as a sister.”

“What was he like?”
The Crown Prince watched as a surprised expression crossed Guinevere’s face.
“My… my brother?” she asked. Arthur gave her an encouraging nod.
“Yes. I want to know, if that’s okay. Could you tell me about him?”
“You don’t… mind?”

“Not at all. He’s still your brother. I’d like to get to know him.”

For a moment, the maidservant looked stunned. Guinevere looked at him in shock, her mouth slightly open as her expression pulled into a look of utter disbelief.

A second passed.

Then, the moment ended. Arthur could sense something shift in the girl next to him. The fear and worry faded away. Her hesitation ended. Arthur watched as a warm smile spread across her lips-
A smile that blossomed into an expression he had never seen before.

The maidservant caught him by surprise. Guinevere leaned forward, closing the distance between them as she placed her head on his chest. For a moment, the Crown Prince was stunned. Arthur could smell the sweet scent of honey and cinnamon as she nestled herself against him. She was so small. He reached out on instinct. Arthur placed an arm around her and pulled her close. A wave of warmth spread through his chest as she nuzzled into him, letting out a small sigh.
“Okay.”

“What else did he like?”
“Well… we had a game called treasure hunt…”