The Daughters of Orkney

forthegothicheroine:

Morgause’s eldest was wild and brave and so charming even her father allowed her whatever she wanted- sword lessons, the freedom to run about the estate, even a delay in marriage.  Morgause longed to warn her that this could not last, that sooner or later she would become a token in a political match, that she was not a son no matter how much Lot indulged her, but she could never bring herself to.

Morgause’s second was the fairest of the four, and she knew it.  Flowing hair of spun gold like something out of a fairy tale, and she knew what to do with it.  How to be beautiful.  How to be observant.  Morgause suspected she was far cleverer than she let anyone know.

Morgause’s third daughter was hard to call hers, for she always and only wanted her father’s attention.  “You have a little Electra there,” said Morgan when she came to visit.  “Which I suppose would make you Clytemnestra.  Be careful with that one.”  It was a cruel remark, typical of Morgan.

Morgause’s youngest would be hers, she vowed.  Hers to protect as long as she could, hers to teach in gentility and kindness, hers to defend from the world as long as the world would allow her.  The way her mother had raised her.

Morgause didn’t like to think about the child still stirring inside her.  That was a problem she could wait to handle.

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