CHAPTER TWO

“Morrigan!” 

A familiar voice echoed inside of Morrigan’s head but when she opened her eyes all she could see was darkness. Morrigan could feel a suffocating sensation on her throat and dark clouds shrouding her. It envelops her and she finds it harder to breathe even further, she’s drowning as these clouds continuously envelop her and the familiar voice continues to call her name desperately. Morrigan tries to free herself from the dark cloud strangling her but it keeps on tightening around her as she struggles to get out of it, suppressing even her own ability to seek and call out for help.

“Morrigan! Run away from here!” It was the same voice of her mother who took the sword that was intended to kill her. It was the same voice of desperation from her mother that fateful night her family was brutally murdered. Morrigan tried to break free but she felt it tightening even more. Breathing is even harder this time and cold sweats are trickling down her forehead. These shrouds of clouds keep on tightening around her, taking all her ability to struggle. 

“Where do you plan to go little princess?” She violently shook her head from that familiar voice. She tried to scream but the darkness muffled her voice and all she could do is shut her eyes tightly, every hair in her body shot up when she felt this dark cloud come in contact with her skin. She started to quiver in fear and as she continued to struggle it felt even harder to breathe. 

No. She muttered in her mind. She tried to pry the clouds that kept her bound. She keeps on trying to free herself with all the strength she could muster. “You can't go anywhere, little princess.” Tears started to fall from her eyes as the memories she keeps too long at the back of her mind flashes in front of her very own eyes. 

No. Morrigan bit her lip and still struggled to free herself. “Don’t run away from me, little princess.” No! She screamed inside of her head and she jolted awake with sweat and tears mixing up on her face. She tries to calm herself down by heaving deep breaths but she could feel her heart beating erratically. It’s all a nightmare, she reminded herself that it was a nightmare and that the people in her dream are dead, including her mother. 

She sat down and curled her legs to her chest and hugged it. Her long raven hair with streaks of white from her traumatic experiences stuck on some parts of her face because of tears and sweat. Tears streamed down her face non-stop. Her eyes stared at the family portrait on top of her fireplace. A family with raven hair and chestnut-colored eyes, all were wearing finely tailored clothes and couture that is commonly worn by families who are well-respected in society. Morrigan’s father, the former king, was standing tall with his hand on Morrigan’s shoulder while her mom was sitting down with another young princess on her lap. Morrigan can still remember how excited she was and her younger sister, Mary, when her father and mother broke the news of them having another sibling, but little did her family know that months later they would be betrayed and brutally murdered by her uncle and some of the ministers who wanted to usurp the throne. 

Morrigan’s hands curled into fists as she remembered how powerless she was standing in front of the tomb of her family. How she wanted to avenge them but she was only thirteen years old and had no right to assume power not until she was of the right age. Her hands subconsciously reached the dagger she always had beside her. Her fingertips caressed its encrusted emblems, a raven that wears a crown. Hymir’s raven and crown emblem were from their deity, Fiachra. 

According to Hymirian folklore, Fiachra is a young warrior cloaked in black flexible armor that is always seen accompanied by her ravens, it is said that Fiachra with the help of her friend ravens won countless battles and brought glory to Ancient Hymir. The King of Hymir at that time fell in love with the woman in black flexible armor and courted her, however, Fiachra’s love for her country was stronger and when a final war broke out Fiachra chose to go in the frontlines and fight with all her might. But it was also a fateful battle where Fiachra sacrificed her life by closing the gates of the kingdom, tens of thousands of ravens hovered the sky, it turned to night all of a sudden. It is said that Fiachra was not just a fearless warrior but a deity of the ravens guarding the Ancient Hymir because of a vision that a war would bring the kingdom to its demise, and with the help of her ravens Hymir won that battle but when the sun rose Fiachra was nowhere to be found and a raven was waiting at the armrest on the throne of the King’s courtroom, on its beak is a piece of Fiachra’s flexible armor. Since then ravens are revered in the kingdom as guardians and a manifestation of Fiachra, and the piece of the Fiachra’s flexible armor remained an artifact that is believed to protect the whole kingdom.

The dagger in her hand was an heirloom to those who are rightful or next in line to the throne, and it was given to Morrigan from the day she was born. It was also the only thing that reminded her of her family and had kept her sane. The only thing that protects her right now. She unsheathed it and stared at her reflection. It was different from the Morrigan she saw on the broken mirror last night, this Morrigan had bloodshot eyes but not with anger, but with sadness and longing. A knock startled Morrigan and she immediately pointed the dagger towards the door. “My queen are you awake?” She sighed in relief when she heard Colfre’s voice from the other side of the door. She sheathed her dagger and let it rest between her hands. “I am. Come in,” she responded. 

The door opened and Colfre emerged. He wears a white flexible armor with the emblem of Hymir on his chest, wearing black inner clothes and a black cloak that he usually wears when he is in rotations. He has a wrapper in his left arm the same color as her peach nightgown. He put his right hand on his chest and bowed as he went near his queen’s bed. “The bath is ready, my queen.” Morrigan nodded and slid out of her bed, Colfre watched her intently. His eyes never leaving the woman in front of him, he watches as Morrigan’s long raven locks sway with her hips and her nightgown dances with the graceful strides of his queen. 

Colfre handed Morrigan her wrapper and Morrigan accepted it with a timid smile. Colfre noticed her bloodshot eyes, he tried to check at Morrigan’s face but Morrigan chose to look away. “What happened, my queen?” Morrigan shook her head. “I dreamt about it again.” Morrigan started to walk out of her room, her bare feet touching the cold marble floor but she didn’t seem to mind. Colfre followed behind her in silence, looking after Morrigan’s bare feet in case that it would bleed again. Servants that were around the halls halted and bowed their heads but Morrigan didn’t dismiss them; instead, it was Colfre who did it in her stead. When they arrived at the room where Morrigan usually takes her solemn bath, Colfre opened the enormous double doors that opened a steaming bath. It’s a large hall with an elaborated bathhouse with vases of white roses surrounding it and the scent of lavender lingers around the room. There’s a single pool in the room that differs in-depth as one goes further and a statue of Fiachra in the middle as a marker that beyond it is a deeper part of the pool.

Colfre went to one side and faced the wall as the servants waiting for Morrigan came near her. Morrigan spread her arms and these servants helped her to remove her clothes and her bandages. Her raven hair covered her whole back but it ended just above her hips, her pristine white skin exposed to the heat the bathhouse is emitting. She went into the bath and rested at one side of the pool. She winced once the water made contact with her wounds but chose to stay in the pool.  Her servants poured lukewarm water on her shoulder that had not been submerged in the pool, and another combing her silky raven hair. She closed her eyes and let the steam envelop her as it slowly calms her down forgetting about her dream earlier and what happened last night.

She raised her hands and dismissed the servants serving her. She heaved a deep breath and submerged her whole body under the water and let herself stay there for a few seconds. When she emerges from the water her hair sticks on her back and even on her face. “Why did you dismiss them?” Colfre asked, still facing the wall. Morrigan walked into the pool with her facing Colfre’s back. Ripples of water echoing around the room between the comfortable silence they share right now. Morrigan continued to walk farther from the edge of the pool and when she noticed it she was already beside Fiachra’s statue.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Morrigan asked him, walking around the pool not minding if she is now getting on the deeper end of the pool, across the marker. “Yes, I do, my queen,” Colfre replied. Morrigan looked around the room with a memory in mind. The bathhouse has its fair share of angel statues that holds a jar of water that is made of ceramics. But it was evidently designed with the emblem of Hymir, with crows embossed in gold at its wall. “I see, if the same thing happened today will you do the same?” Morrigan asked. Colfre scrunched his eyebrows with confusion. “What do you mean, my queen?” he asked. No one answered his queries. Just the sound of rippling water echoes around the room. “My queen?” still no one answered. He turned around to face the pool and his initial reaction was to remove his cloak and flexible armor in a hurry and jump straight to the water.