They say that I was born under a cursed sky, when lightning struck the old wizard tree atop the tallest, lushest green hillock on a cloudless night, by the light of a full and blood-red moon.
They say that I was born of witch, child of dark forces beyond, and pointed at my jet-black hair, my snow-pale skin, my ice-blue eyes, so different from the blonds and gingers and sandy-haired peoples of my father, but my mother was from a race not from this land. I still say I have my coloring from her peoples, for I do remember her: eyes the color of a cloudless winter sky, a pale face framed by night, and a melodic voice that sang me wordless melodies.
Or perhaps I am dreaming my features into hers, as they also say that she was dead before I had finished entering the world.
For they also say that as I drew my breath to cry, I sucked out the last of her fragile soul from her weakened body, like a parasite devouring its host.
I say they lie, and that she died with a smile on her lips, and my name on her breath. Morgan. Morgan of the sea, of the bright white sea.
Your time in the land of Godville has run out. The wrath of Morgan Le Fey’s storm will be upon you soon!
The Men of the “Round” tries to bring me down – They drown in my sound.
My half Brother of the “Round” wants to keep me bound – He drowns in my sound.
My sweet Lancelot is the hound – Dragging me around, but alas he will one day beg for my sound.
Morganna began her journey through the realms of the minds of lovers, men and magic. Stumbling upon the sphere in space, twirling around like a ballerina, enticing her with the sounds of words of “gods” she entered the world through runes, magic and knowledge that was born into her. This world of godville intrigues her as she watches the puppet game from afar, her story is slowly taking shape…