A Spoonful of Regret

[a chapter of lost potential]

There were moments- so, so many- in which he loathed himself for the path he had chosen, his very spirit mourning the innocent woman he had manipulated, his nightmares plagued by the betrayal in her eyes, the heartbreak he felt as he held her, watching her fear and agony flow through her as surely as the poison-



His dreams fluttered to the possible futures that his actions had prevented. Had he been honest, had he tried to protect her, assure her she was not alone. If he had just-!




But it was too late.




The kindhearted girl who used to dance with her handmaiden through the market square, playfully fired volley after volley of jibes at her brother, negotiated matters of state with her father, and confided her darkest secrets in him-



She was gone. Her body still roamed the earth, void of her loving spirit, a dark plague upon the land, a scourge of his own creation.




He had wrought his own creature of darkness, a being so full of contempt, ambition, desperation, and asperity-




He could have saved her.




Sometimes, he dreams of what could have been.



He dreams of confiding in her, learning together, shaping a new destiny together.

He dreams of the boy they would have saved, dreams of approaching her brother- the future king- together, to prove that not all magic is evil, that it can be used for good.

He dreams so vividly of sitting together in that secretive room in the library, laughing together as they inhale dust of the old tomes, their magic sparkling in the air around them. He dreams of the elaborate schemes they could have concocted, the pranks they could have played. His heart clenches with each of those dreams, of the gentle flutter of her raven lashes as he guides her through her Sight, teaching, encouraging, supporting each other.

He dreams of the woman who could have ruled alongside her brother, of the Albion they could have all created.

He dreams of sharing everything with each other, breathing his secrets into her ear as they hide within the wardrobes of visiting dignitaries, working together once more to protect their kingdom, of the way her lips twitch in bemusement as she presses them gently to his cheek, murmuring her opinions with all absence of hesitation.

He could have shared so much with her, they could have learnt so much from each other-



But he had destroyed it.




Damning destinies, dusty dragons, and silvering superiors who had already seen their rise and fall had influenced his actions, the consequences proving to be the very future he had been so desperate to avoid.





There remains almost nothing of the noble spirit he once knew. She still maintains a heightened posture, a sparkle in the eyes that indicates that she has the breeding of the queen she aspires so hard to be, and her eyes still pierce his soul and make his heartbeats skip about against his better judgement.


But there is only cruelty and hatred in her eyes, alight with dark intentions and promised torments. She no longer radiates warmth, kindness, and the courage to face adversity to protect.




The warrior princess was gone. The High Priestess had claimed her.





She has him in chains, heals him, speaks lowly and demands answers-


Why is he so loyal to her brother?

Why does he fight?

Why did he betray her?

Why-

Why?

Why!




He knows not anymore.




His mother had once told him to always trust in his heart, to follow the path that was right, even if others said it was not.

But he didn't listen. Not to his own wisdom. He doubted himself, he doubted her-



By falling for the words of others, he had lost a dear friend. He had condemned her to death, playing counsel and executioner in one fluid motion.



He had created her darkness out of his own shortcomings, and now he stands, wrists bound, eyes flickering warily around the earthen-floored hut, until they settle once more upon her.

She is watching him with a smirk sharper than a dragon's blade, eyes flared in ambition, and ice water flowing through her veins.



And though it is far too late- and he knows it would all be for naught- his heart sounds out a silent plea, a desperate prayer for the girl he once adored, for the sister his king still mourned, for the stories they could have written, for the lives they could have shared, for the destinies they could have altered-




Oh Morgana; please forgive me.