The Assassin and the Sorceress

I was a normal girl once, but that was hundreds of years ago. I certainly didn't think of myself as normal at the time, but whether or not I felt like I fit in with society back then, at least I never questioned my humanity. I didn't have many friends back then, but at least when somebody did say they liked me, I knew it was true. It was better than the terrified respect that I get from every human interaction now.

I am a monster now, and I must remain a monster forever. If I let myself die like a mortal, He will come to claim my soul which I promised him so long ago. I can never escape Him. I can only use the magic he gave me to delay my natural death by another day, another year, another century at a time. Can I last forever like this, or will this torturous, meaningless existence break me one day? Will I finally weary of this mockery of life to the point that His merciless clutches seem a better fate? I wish I knew the answer.

I was born as Morgana. That's it, just Morgana. My family wasn't rich or important enough to have a family name. In those days, only nobility or masters of a craft ever had a last name and my father knew no craft. I lived in a small village called Ash, on the very fringes of the Roman Empire. It was so far out and isolated that sometimes we wondered if the rest of the Empire remembered we were supposed to be a part of it.

Ash was under the protection of a lesser lord, Lord Abel, who we rarely saw. Don't bother asking after him. He never did anything to make history. The castle was old even then. Nobody knew who had built it or why its inhabitants had left. It was a testament to a day when civilization flourished here. No more. Not then nor now. It was too big for him and his few courtiers. Most of the wings weren't even maintained. Surrounding this castle was a village of about five-hundred people. Everyone knew each other.

It sounds nice, and I'm sure it was for most of the people there. But none of the children I grew up with ever liked me, but there were no other groups of children I could turn to for friendship. I was the odd one, always picked on, always teased. I never figured out what, exactly, was different about me, but it didn't help that my mother, Helen, was the most hated teacher at the school.

She was strict and unerringly religious. She rarely tolerated laughter or horseplay, even when it happened outside of school or church. She would spank children with the board for anything she considered an annoyance. Heaven help the child she caught doing something that actually was bad. Damnation and hellfire! She would terrorize us poor kids with her perverted style of religion. She convinced us that God himself would scorn us, that our parents would be happier if they had never conceived us, that nothing but an eternity of unbearable torture awaited us after this miserable life. Of course she was wrong about all the hellfire stuff. I was the only one her damning accusations ever turned out to be true for. But I'll get to that.

Having her as a teacher must have been bad enough, so try to imagine being her daughter. My father, John, didn't help much, either. He was good to me when he was around, but that was rare. I know he wasn't happy with life. Sometimes it seemed like I cheered him up a little, but it was never enough to ease his suffering. He managed the stables for a living. He worked long hours at a miserable job for barely enough coin to support the three of us. He always came home late, either smelling of horse manure or cheap ale. He wasn't an angry drunk, in fact he seemed a little less miserable when he had been drinking. It was a habit I often considered taking up myself, except I couldn't bear the taste.

So, with no real friends, a mostly absent father, and a mother I preferred to avoid, I spent a lot of time alone. I taught myself to read and write. Learning to read was rare for anybody outside of nobility or the clergy. School, which was only on Sundays, only taught us basic concepts of society and that forced version of religion that passed for truth there. Regardless, reading was something I picked up fairly easy. I was very smart, though I don't think anybody else realized that. The first book I ever read was the Bible. It was the only book any of us commoners had regular access to.

The reverend was happy to teach me how to read certain passages in his spare time. After all teaching the gospel was his purpose in life, and I suppose he was happy to finally have a child that actually wanted to learn from him. I didn't actually believe any of it. I only pretended to so he wouldn't think he was wasting his time on me. Eventually he did figure out that I was more interested in reading in general than learning scripture, so he told me to stop bothering him. Just like everyone else in my life, as soon as I failed to fit into his own agenda, I was of no more use to him. But by this point, I had learned enough that I could teach myself. I finished the Bible on my own. Eventually I stole a book. It was a book about the pagan gods of ancient Rome. The reverend wanted it to be burned for being heretical, but I managed to save it from destruction with nobody the wiser. I didn't believe this book any more than the Bible, but I still enjoyed reading it all the same. The stories were entertaining.

I did have a few friends, though nobody really close to me. Sometimes Susan would play with me. She was just a little older than me. She teased me when the other children were around, but at least she tolerated me when nobody else was there to see. It's like she thought being friends with me was something to be ashamed of. I suppose that didn't make her a very good friend, but beggars can't be choosers.

Even when it was just the two of us, I can't say she was particularly nice to me. We played by her rules, and I did what she said. In retrospect, perhaps she'd play with me because I was easy to boss around. Even when we were alone, she would play tricks on me. She'd try to get me to pick up a stick the knew had a spider on it, offer me a bite of food she had put dirt in. She'd laugh, then say it was just for fun. Actually, she'd get mad at me if I didn't fall for her tricks. And, of course, her tricks only got worse when others were around.

Yes, I talked to a few people and worked on a few things, but mostly I kept to myself. I hated Ash, so I often explored in the wilderness just to get away as far away from that miserable town as I could. Sometimes I thought of just picking a direction and walking until I found another place to live, but Ash was too isolated. Even if I had known the way to the next city, I had no idea if I could make it on foot.

My mother never asked where I was during these lengthy ramblings, and I don't think she cared as long as my chores weren't left unfinished at the end of the day. I think she was happy enough to not have to deal with me, to have me out of her sight and not bothering her. Maybe she hoped I would never come back. I don't know. Out there in the open wilderness, I could be whatever I wanted, and there was nobody to ruin my day. I could even be naughty, and it wouldn't matter. I could climb trees, throw rocks, get muddy, and nobody could stop me.

There was even a cave that I found in my wanderings. It was just a few miles out in the woods, just far enough from town that I didn't have to worry about meeting other people there by chance. In truth, I don't really remember how I found it. The time I think was my first time seeing it (I think I was around ten years old) I don't recall being surprised to find it, as if I had already known about it. Maybe it hadn't been my first time there... or maybe I had been led there somehow.

The cave was my sanctuary, the place where nobody else could ever find me. The cave made me uneasy at first, but anything was better than being back at Ash. It went deeper than I dared to venture, but I went in as far as there was light to see.

Here's the truly remarkable thing about my cave. If I sat there long enough, the cave would give me... feelings. These feelings are hard to put into words, but I will try. I felt a presence, almost as if the cave knew I was there. It was a cold presence that gave me goosebumps, but at the same time I felt that it liked me for who I was. It actually wanted me there, and it didn't need me to change to suit its own purposes. There was nobody in all of Ash that treated me like that.

The cave's presence became my secret friend. I never thought to give him a name back then, but I would speak to the cave all the same, and it would reply with my echoes. I told him all my secrets, all of my burning hatred, all the bad things I had done that I didn't feel sorry about. He always listened intently. He understood, and he loved me for it.

A few rare times, I thought I even got a reply back. Not another echo of my own words, mind you, but an actual, intelligent response. I heard nothing. The replies came as wordless ideas, alien thoughts and feelings that seemed to come from outside my own head. It only happened three times that I knew; it was subtle. But all three of them were in response to the worst of my feelings of hatred.

These ideas told me that I was right to hate the people of Ash, and how I could get revenge. When I told the cave how my mother had slapped me several times and locked in my room for a day for using the Lord's name in vain, the cave told me how I could poison my mother and be rid of her forever. When Susan got particularly nasty about me not playing by her rules, it told me how to tie Susan up in such a way that she could never escape and never be found, and I could leave her in the woods to starve. When the other kids in Ash ganged up on me and sent my home crying, the cave gave me a detailed plan of how to set the entire town on fire.

I never actually did any of these ideas. They were all terrible, but that didn't stop me from fantasizing about it. I loved to kindle my rage until it burned hot and uncontrollable within me. That's what the cave did for me. In the cave, I reveled in my anger. I let it define me.

That was my early childhood. Things started to change during my teenage years, as I suppose they do for all children at that age. All the boys were noticing the girls, and the girls were noticing the boys. I was different, though. Oddly, I found myself allured by both the girls and the boys alike, not certain which ones attracted me more. I wondered if any of the other girls felt how I did about other girls, but I could never bring myself to admit to it. So for the time I kept this secret.

But regardless of who had earned my fancy, none of the girls or boys ever seemed to fancy me back. I'd watch the silly games they would play, all the effort they would put into this romance game of theirs. So called friends would back stab one another, all over a boy or a girl. They would gossip, tell lies, and spread rumors to take a rival down. They would practice lines to appear more charming or witty. Always comparing each other, hoping to be the bigger man or the prettier woman. I never got it. Why couldn't they just be themselves and speak as they wanted? Why did that love have to be exclusive? Why couldn't two friends just decide to be romantic without it tearing their whole circle of friends apart?

I watched this game with scorn, but also jealousy. Despite my best efforts, I never had any romance of my own. As much as I hated the game, it seemed this was the only set of rules they played by. If I didn't understand it, I certainly couldn't play it. My few, feeble attempts to get a boy to fall in love with me all ended in humiliation. In fact, I remember thinking on my lonely eighteenth birthday, the day I became a woman grown, that while several of my peers were already engaged, I hadn't even had the pleasure of my first kiss.

I had grown into a very pretty young woman, so why didn't anybody like me yet? I suppose I didn't have the breasts or the hips that the other girls started to develop, but my face, I think, was very charming.

Two of my peers in particular had caught my attention. First was Susan who had played with me as a kid, though we hadn't visited each other in years. I never forgot that she was the only other girl who had ever paid me any attention, but since growing up, she had become beautiful! Her red curls of hair were just as beautiful as when she was a young child, but now as an adult she had developed some large breasts that further made her the envy of the town, myself included. My own breasts were so small, though I loved to play with them in private. I wondered what it must feel like to play with a set of breasts as ample as hers. If I had breasts like that, would the boys like me then? I coveted her, body and soul.

Then there was Joseph, the master butcher's son. He had also developed nicely. He wasn't the burliest boy in Ash, but he was strong all the same, and very nice to look at. More than that, I got the feeling that he would have liked me if we actually got to know each other better. We made eye contact a few times, and I swear I saw just the tiniest bit of a smile directed at me. Sometimes he would ask me how my day went. He would actually come up and talk to me, not just respond to what I had said to him! The only other man to show me that much warmth was my own father. I wanted Joseph, but I didn't know if he realized it. I thought about telling him how I felt, asking if we could spend time together alone, but I never found the courage.

I had so many wonderful adventures with Susan, Joseph, and a few others, all in my head of course. When I thought about Susan, somehow those bondage games we used to play came back to me. It was strange. When we played those games years ago, there was never anything more about it than a child's silly games. But by the time I reached womanhood, it excited me in entirely new ways. I would imagine Susan and myself at our current ages playing those games we used to. Only sometimes I would finally get to tie her up. But it didn't end there anymore. No, once I had her, she was mine to do with as I pleased.

When I thought about boys, my fantasies were more romantic and closer to what I assumed were normal things for a girl to fantasize about. It was the usual storybook love: a charming prince to dote on his beautiful princess. Usually it was Joseph. He would finally profess his love for me and proceed to take my clothes off. Maybe we would have a wonderful heart to heart first where we fall deeply in love before we get to the sex, sometimes not. I wondered what his hands would feel like on my body, what his bare skin and firm muscles would feel like in my own hands. I imagined us kissing and staring deeply into each other's eyes, cuddling naked in bed, exploring each other's flesh with our every sense.

Of course I did more than just lie there in my bed when I had these thoughts. Whether it was a boy or a girl occupying my desires, my hands were always busy with my own body. This habit had become an obsession lately. I suppose I didn't have much else to do, but it was something I was quite ashamed of. I tried to quit on several occasions, because I thought there was something wrong with me. As ashamed as I was, I don't think I ever made it more than a week. It was about the only thing that gave me pleasure. Now that I was too old to have imaginary friends in caves, losing myself in these fantasies was my new way of escaping the dull realities of my life. What can I say? I was a horny girl.

Then came the best and worst day of my life up to that point. I was nineteen years old. Consider where I was in my life at this time. Some of the other girls were starting to talk about marriage. A few were even making plans. Then there was me, as alone as ever. I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever find my prince. From what I saw at the time, I was headed down a path to become as alone and miserable as my mother, only without even a drunken husband to share a home with. And for all I yet know, that might well have happened had things stayed the same. It was a very dark and sad time for me.

It was February, when snow covered the ground and the chill in the air nipped at your extremities. As the sun was setting, I was walking back to my house when I found Susan and some of the other girls and boys gathered in the street. They seemed to have just come from some party or other gathering that I, of course, hadn't been told about.

I walked up to say hello. Most of them looked to see who was approaching, only to look away, disinterested, when they saw it was me. But not Susan. Susan actually had something to say to me.

"Oh, Morgana! Morgana, you are just who I was looking for! I need to show you something. It's very peculiar!"

My ears perked up at the thought of actually being wanted for once. The fact that it was one of my crushes made it all the more enticing.

"What is it, Susan?" I asked, hopefully. I probably sounded like a starving dog, finally being teased with an offer of table scraps: in this case a scrap of human kindness. I jogged into their circle, eager to see what she had for me.

She pointed to a lamppost next to her. "This lamppost has a very strange flavor. It tastes almost like candy, but not exactly. It's sweet, but none of us can figure out what it is."

I heard some stifled chuckles from the other kids. All of a sudden, the conversations had stopped. My gut feel told me this laughter was not a good sign, but my eagerness to be a part of whatever they were up to overpowered my better judgment.

I laughed, too. "And just how did you figure this out? Why were you tasting the lamppost in the first place, exactly?" I asked.

"Uh, you have me there," she admitted. "I don't know who the first one was, but we all agree now that it has a strange flavor. It's kind of familiar, but none of us can place it exactly. Come on, Morgana, you're a very smart girl. Maybe you can figure out what it is for us."

It was the first time that anyone had ever acknowledged how intelligent I was. I was completely sold at this point. Such a stupid lie she had told me. I have no idea how myself or anyone could have believed it. But as desperate as I was for friendship right then, I somehow found a way to believe her. So without so much as a second thought, I leaned towards the lamppost and gave it a lick.

And what did I taste? Well, it wasn't a taste, exactly, but more of a sharp sting as the end of my tongue felt the frigid chill of the metal. Reflexively, I pulled back only to get an even worse surprise. The tip of my tongue was clinging tightly to the lamppost! I had no idea what was going on! Eyes wide with horror, I tried to pull myself free, but it just wasn't coming off.

I muttered a few slurred things, trying to inform everyone of the unexpected problem I was having, but the sudden burst of laughter told me that I was the only one to have been surprised by this. What had Susan done to the lamppost? Had she put glue on it? Was this some kind of witchcraft?

"Yeah, real smart indeed!" I heard Susan yell in a harsh mocking tone right before a snowball hit me square in the back of the head. More laughter. In a few seconds another snowball hit me, followed by an entire volley. I felt hands slapping me in the head, somebody grabbed my butt, and even a punch to the back that almost knocked the wind out of me.

I fought back for a little while. I tried to swat blindly at the groping arms that assailed me, but as immobilized as I was, my hands mostly hit air. I tried to free myself. I pulled, pulled, and pulled some more. I could feel my tongue being pulled out of my mouth, brutally stretched to its absolute extent. I yanked and yanked until I thought if I pulled any harder I risked tearing the tip of my tongue clean off.